
^<^^^r0^rS"J 



GALGANO'S WOOING 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



BY ^ 

SARAH BRIDGES STEBBINS. 



J^ 




NEW YORK: "^-^^ 

COPYRIGHT, 1890, BY '^ 

G. W, DillingJiaiyi, Pnblisher, 

Successor to G. W. Carleton & Co. 

MDCCCXC, 
\All Kights Re serve d.\ 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

GALGANO'S WOOING 9 

THE OLD LOVE 25 

THE LION IN A MENAGERIE . . .53 

Francis Villon, Poet ...... 63 

One of the Commune ...... 68 

Bajazet . 71 

The Lark's Song ....... 74 

An Old Time Singer ...... 78 

A Song at the Feast ...... 80 

Art 82 

A Legend of the Talmud ..... 84 

Praying ......... 86 

Two .......... 88 

Ad Altiora 89 

Glory versus Labor ....... 90 

Diana of Poictiers ...... 91 

Patience 92 

Barye , . 93 



6 Contents. 

IN LANDS APART ..,,.. ^95 

Off the Irish Coast 97 

In the Coliseum . . ... 98 

The Gothic Kings ..... 100 

At the Ball at Long Branch . . . . 103 

Niagara ....... 105 

The Bahamas . . . . . . • 113 

The Outlook ...... 116 

The Lilies of Prosperity . . . . • 117 

A Tropic Noon . , . . . . 119 

A Tropic Sunset ...... 120 

"Pan Sleeps " ...... 121 

FLOWERS OF A TROPIC ISLAND . . 123 

Snowdrops . . . . . . . 125 

Oleanders ........ 126 

Frangipani . . . . . . . 127 

Laurestina ....... 128 

Amaryllis 129 

Poinsiana ........ 130 

RONDEAUS 131 

Our Starry Flag ..... . 133 

A Rose-leaf Shell . ... . 134 

The Poet's Land . . . . . 135 

The Old Poets 136 

Ann Hathaway ....... 137 

Shakespeare's Girls ..... 138 

Shakespeare's Boys ...... 139 



Contents. 



WOMAN AND MAN 
Dedication 
Rebeckah — Esau 
Leah — Jacob 
Vashti — Ahasuerus 
One of the Wives — Ezra 
Panthea — Cyrus 
Cleopatra — Caesar 
Mariamne — Herod 
Portia — Brutus 
Aspasia — Pericles . 
Xantippe — Socrates . 
Hipparete — Alcibiades 
Lais — Diogenes 
Ayesha — Mahomet 
Vittoria Colonna — Michel Angelo 
Leonora D'Este — Tasso 
Mary Stuart — Bothvvell 
Marie Antoinette— Mirabeau 
Josephine — Napoleon 
Charlotte Von Stein — Goethe 
Carlotta — Louis Napoleon 





Page 


• 


141 




143 


146, 


147 


148, 


149 


150. 


151 


152, 


153 


154, 


155 


156, 


157 


158, 


159 


160, 


161 


162, 


163 


164. 


165 


166, 


167 


168, 


169 


170, 


171 


172, 


173 


174, 


175 


176, 


177 


178, 


179 


180, 


181 


182, 


183 


184, 


^85 



GALGANOS WOOING. 



POEMS. 



GALGANO'S WOOING. 

O, weary is that hapless lover's fate 
Who loves too well because he loves too late ; 
Who dreams of heaven in a burning lake 
Without one grateful drop his thirst to slake ; 
Who worships still the virtue he deplores, 
And yet would fain destro}^ what he adores ! 
Such contradictions sway one human soul, 
That best and worst alike its aims control ! 
And thus Galgano, a most noble youth 
Famed in Sienna for his worth and truth, 
Cast all the hope and interest of his life 
On Messer Stricca's fair and stainless wife. 
But careless of his passion and his pain. 
Contented calmly o'er her home to reign, 
Monaccio passed her dreamless, peaceful days 



1 2 Galganos Wooing. 

Secure in pleasure at her husband's praise ; 

Nor ever thought to try her honor's might 

By dangerous dalliance on the verge of right. 

Nor deemed could be beneath her placid ease 

Unmeasured depths of unmoved sympathies. 

In vain Galgano at the tourney wore 

Her colors, and the prize of bravery bore, 

No thrill of pride enkindled softer glance 

For him alone her beauty to enhance ; 

In vain at festivals he followed nigh 

And where she was stood ever watchful by 

Her shadow but her shadow was to her, 

Nor in her heart or path made change or stir. 

Indifference quells not love but feeds its fire. 

While 'neath cool scorn its mounting flames aspire ; 

So message after message she disdained, 

His gifts declined, and all his ardor gained 

Was thus provoked by quenchless zeal pursued, 

She sometimes thought of him in angry mood. 

Yet still Galgano, when by hope forsook, 

Some specious counsel with his reason took ; 

" Why should I strive," he said, " with selfish hand 

To pluck this pure white lily ? Better stand 

Unblessed afar, and see it spotless shine 

In sunny garden that can ne'er be mine ! 

That so my soul, thus taught true grace to know, 

By sacramental sacrifice shall grow 

In likeness of this innocence unbroke, 



Galgands Wooing. 1 3 

And drop abashed desire's enslaving yoke ! 

For ah ! if passion with its simoon power 

But touch the leaves 'twill wither all the flower. 

And love's own breath could never kiss away 

Eartli's darkeningdust whose poison joy would slay!" 

And then some vision of her witching face 

Cold resolution's theory would chase, 

And Circean memory again restore 

Assurance faint to urge this quest once more. 

Once Messer Stricca and his lovely wife 

To taste the sweets of quiet country life 

Their summer villa sought ; and hovering nigli 

This lover bold, ere many days went by. 

With hawk on wrist forever hunting seemed, 

While still of dove uncaught he only dreamed ; 

And Messer Stricca, with no guess of wrong, 

Thus gladly met and greeted him ere long. 

With social courtesy then liis entrance pressed 

To that charmed house with her dear presence blest ; 

But stammering heartfelt thanks he yet declined, 

Stung with an honest shame but half defined. 

To have thus yielded as to trusted friend 

The easy means to his alluring end. 

Then cursing his own pride he went his way; 

And lo, it chanced liis footsteps sprang a jay ; 

Swift as a thought he gave his hawk the wing 

That failed not soon the quarry down to bring 

Close to the villa door ; the bird's sharp cry 



14 Galgand s Wooing. 

Had brought the lady to the balcony, 

Who with her husband watched the skill and grace 

With which the falcon followed in the chase, 

And how the game at last was struck so true 

The struggle scarce began before 'twas through ; 

" Mark this fine hawk," then Messer Stricca said, . 

" How well it works ; tlie vanquished jay is dead. 

'Tis like its master, perfect of its kind 

As he is first in person and in mind. 

Sienna's boast in courage and in wit 

Mere lauding words can scarce his merit fit ; 

But as before his falcon fell the jay 

Must women-hearts surrender to his sway I" 

" And what may be this peerless hero's name ?" 

The lady careless asked ; the answer came 

With more of noble praise, " Galgano, love !" 

Quick pulsed her blood ; she gently leaned above 

The stricken bird, and he but heard her say 

In accents sorrowful, " Poor Jay ! poor Jay !" 

Ah, so mysterious is woman's mind. 

That like Eolian harp played by the wind, 

Its music rises oft from unseen cause 

Of subtle influence unswayed by laws ! 

And thus her husband's eulogy awoke 

The love Galgano never could evoke 

With all the earnestness of his own suit ; 

And such strange seed bore speedy, ripened fruit ; 

For brooding tenderly on this high praise 



Galgands Wooing. 15 

Her heart recalled his image and his vva3-s 

Who " first in all Sienna " humbly gave 

To her alone the homage of a slave? 

And o'er her former coldness that repelled 

Such rare perfection tears of wonder welled ; 

She sighing feared his hope had thus been killed, 

And blushing then with fond prevision thrilled. 

So when on embassy of moment sent 

Good Messer Stricca to Perugia went, 

Monaccio dispatched a message kind 

Unto Galgano, promised lie sliould find 

Her old indifference changed to courteous grace 

And long-desired audience face to face. 

The sad dejection of despairing mood 

Was whelmed in sudden joy's Elysian flood, 

And buoyed on expectation's blissful height 

Enchanted air swift bore him to delight ; 

For as the lady gave him welcome sweet, 

He threw himself enraptured at her feet 

And breathed the story of his love at last 

And all the suffering of the cruel past, 

And as she looked at him with softened eyes 

And murmured tenderly her glad replies, 

Both fondly deemed that in that rapturous hour 

Life's dreams perfected bloomed in crowning flower. 

Of love's pure nectar quaffing draughts divine, 
By feast untasted of rare fruits and wine 



1 6 Galgands Wooing. 

Served in his honor and 'mid roses spread, 

They sat in tliat delicious silence bred 

Of heart shared sestasy which words profane, 

That exaltation in which man would gain 

The borders infinite, save that his flight 

To soaring feelings untranscended height 

Stirs Nature's depths where lie the founts of pain, 

And causeless sadness springs to draw again 

The human to its level. In the light 

Of this celestial mood Monaccio's sight 

Cauglit sudden gleams of inner self intense. 

That underlying life's less fervid sense, 

In unsuspected passion's natal hour 

Affrighted peace witii undeveloped power ; 

While to Galgano inspiration came 

Of love surpassing thrilling mortal flame, 

Through crucifixion of the flesh endured 

Of its own blest eternity secured. 

But like the flitting of an angel's wings, 

That passing holiness to earth's air brings 

And bears a promise of the higher sphere. 

Then leaves the breeze that from all blossom near 

Gathers the fragrance of this world instead; 

Before new joys these revelations fled ; 

And then, in lover's wont, oft telling o'er 

The hopes and fears that swayed his soul of yore, 

Although his happiness scarce deemed it strange, 

He asked the reason of his lady's change. 



Galgands Wooing. 1 7 

A something mournful echoed in her tone, 

And in her eyes a floating sadness shone 

As thus she answered with her face aglow ; 

" Galgano, now I love you, love you so. 

With feeling sudden born full-grown and strong 

That in my heart must sure have hidden long. 

Unnoticed springing 'neath my tranquil days 

Till summoned into life by startling praise ; 

And of my love will truly tell you all !" 

And then she bade his memory recall 

That signal day she watched his falcon's flight 

When struggling jay she was struck before her sight; 

And told how Messer Stricca warmly spoke 

Tlie commendation that love's yearning woke ; 

And as she murmured generous tribute o'er, 

Drooping his noble head, he felt once more 

Through throbbing pulses honor's immanence 

As smitten conscience strove with eager sense ; 

" If I should wrong this trusting man ;" he tliought. 

Who thus of mere good fame such dream hath 

wrought 
Of lofty worthiness, it will not be 
In me alone, but in humanity 
That he would lose belief ; his soul as well 
As she and I would thus take hold on hell," 
And then in majesty of trutli and faith 
His loyal spirit rose ; o'er time and death 
With clear eyes gazed upon God's secret things, 
Upborne by strengtii renunciation brings. 



1 8 Galgands Wooing. 

He seized a flower perfect in each part 
From paler outer leaves to crimson heart, 
And o'er it silent mused ; the lady too 
In silence sat, half-mazed, half-awed to view 
His mien and action, yet without offence 
At seeming slight, in love's first confidence 
Assured that explanation soon would show 
Some happy meaning such strange course below. 

Slowly he spoke at last, " Monaccio, 

As this fair rose, all lovely things below 

Methinks are images of those unseen, 

Material outbirths into world terrene 

Of spirit prototypes in higher lands, 

And when each soul within their glory stands. 

Remembrance of these mortal effigies 

Shall swell and balance heavenly ecstacies. 

And like earth's joys foreshadowed in a dream 

Make an eternal home familiar seem ; 

Thus too our love, as this perfected flower 

Wiiose beauty and whose fragrance in this hour 

Have reached the zenith of its peerless bloom. 

May be but counterpart 'mid transient doom 

Of that celestial rapture's changeless flow 

That intermingling spirits ever know. 

Ah, who can tell if my hot hand should crush 

To drooping ruin this sweet blossom's blush. 

That thus perchance its antitype or soul 

May be like maimed ; and when I reach the goal 



Galganos Wooing. 1 9 

We go to through the grave, and wondering pass 
Through forms supreme once seen as through a glass, 
A shade may fall upon the path of light 
From memory's remorse, should shrinking sight 
Behold this flower marred 'mid moulds divine, 
Or miss in Paradise this rose of thine. 
So too if we should smite immortal love 
With passion's sure decay, in realms above 
Regret and shame might canker heavenly bliss 
Of deathless dream whose promise is in this ! 
Or, it might be that wronged by human life 
'Tvvould die for aye when ceases carnal strife ; 
And, as unending punishment, its loss 
Change all Elsyium's other joys to dross ; 
But if unsullied faithful kept below 
Of its own pureness everlasting grow !" 

Bewildered first, and then with prescience pale. 

The lady felt the heart within her fail, 

Half doubting if he scorned her that her pride 

Had striven not her yielding mood to hide ; 

Then thrilled with fear at words that shadow bore 

Of high resolve that he would come no more ; 

Nor rose with him the flesh and sense above 

To heights sublime where love o'ermastered love, 

Till as she listened, gazing on his face 

And saw it kindle with ennobling grace. 

Her husband's praise of truth without a stain 

Re-echoed in her troubled thought again, 



20 Galgaiios Wooing. 

And woke a woman's yearning to upsoar 
Unto her lover's level ; but once more 
Love vanquished aspiration, and a strain 
Rang through her answering voice of bitter pain ; 
" Galgano, we are young, and life is long ; 
I, but a woman, with a soul scarce strong 
As thine to stand alone and seer-like gaze 
Beyond the limits of our mortal days 
On world I know not from the w^orld I know — 
I — I would change not one sweet hour below 
Of rapture sure like that we shared to-niglit 
For dim eternity's untried delight ! 
Oh ! canst thou love me as thou earnest swore 
And banish love to Heaven's distant shore ? 
And if we part, oh love, if we should part. 
Some other happier, unwedded heart. 
For which thine honor would not wounded be, 
Would win thy very memory from me !" • 
Then as the sudden tears o'erflowed her eyes, 
Low at her feet he knelt with anguished cries : 
" My love ! my love ! look down into my face, 
Read there my agony's unerring trace I 
Do I not love thee ? O Monaccio, 
Glad would I all the coming years forego 
To hold thee as mine own once here below ! 
No higher joy could earth e'er hope to know ! 
But like dividing waves of pathless sea. 
Sadder than death there rolls 'twixt thee and me 
•My threatening conscience,and his wrong whose trust 



Galgands Wooing. 2 1 

Is 'gainst my selfish dream like God's hand thrust I 

But oh, beyond, beyond this passing life, 

Its ties, its passions, and this awful strife, 

Thou wilt be mine, be mine, Monaccio, 

Forever mine, unstained as Northern Snow ! 

And evermore as now remembrance clear 

To keep of this one hour to both so dear, 

To nurse unchanging hope of bliss divine. 

With every future thought my Christ's and thine, 

I go from hence to convent cell secure. 

And 'neath the cross will ceaseless there adjure 

The thorn-crowned Saviour that thy days may be 

Blest with His peace till He gives thee to me !" 

With brow uplifted as towards Heaven's light 

She seemed an angel rising in his sight ; 

His noble nature had her spirit fired 

And glow of sacrifice her mien inspired ; 

" Our God has sent this worthy love," she said, 

To draw us to Himself ; we hence are dead 

To life's worst tempting, for 'twas His own voice 

Called thee through suffering to thy holy choice ; 

Nor dare I bid thee to the world again. 

Where luring sin might prove salvation's bane ! 

And I will strive thy rigliteousness to share, 

And give response unto thy every prayer 

By daily duties done in lofty faith 

Of compensating sweetness after death ! 

And see, though here we part for all our years. 



22 Galgands Wooing. 

My eyes, Galgano, drop no more salt tears 

For gladness that thou saved me ! I but felt 

A little hour agone love only dwelt 

Within my heart of flesh, and did repeat 

*' 'Twould live for thee while that full heart should 

beat ! 
But now — Oh, I have come through thee to know 
I am a soul ; and that true love can grow 
In souls alone ; for hearts and hands are dust 
But souls immortal are ! Nor time, nor rust 
Souls' treasures can corrupt ! — Adieu ! adieu ! — " 
She floated like a vision from his view ; 
Mists dimmed his sight, his blood pulsed hot and fast ; 
He stretched his arms to her ; his passion past 
Swept like a flood athwart his reeling will ; 
" Return, return !" he hoarsely breathed ; but still 
She drew not nigh ; " O come !" then rang his cry, 
"Come back, Monaccio, or else I die !" — 
But only from the distance softly fell 
Upon his swooning sense " Farewell ! farewell !" 



THE OLD LOVE. 



The Old Love, 25 



BEFORE. 

HE. 

'Tis five and thirty years ! So long ! so long ! 
Yet when I free my soul from out the leash 
Of will that holds it to the present term, 
Let it leap sudden back, there is no time 
Betwixt that day and this ; so strong, so real 
Was that one life of life ! So empty, vain, 
Worthless and shadowy existence since ! 
Yet I have earned my honors, won my spurs, 
And now — at sixty — men account my name 
A nation's pride ! My God ! I'd give it all — 
Fame, knowledge, wealth and state, to have again 
One of those hours of youth with my dear love ! 
Those summer hours, when from the sunshine crept 
A subtle softness through the heart and veins ! 
When o'er the stream and trees and shining grass 
Brooded a still repose, that gave to earth 
A sort of sacred pureness that infused 
And changed emotion into rapture sweet 
As high and holy as the bliss of heaven ! 
When we, love blended in a speechless dream, 
Had scarcely sense but that we twain were one ; 
Not woman, man, she, me, or flesh and blood, 



26 The Old Love. 

But being only, out of human raised. 

And infinite in the divineness deep 

Of our celestial mood ! Those hours ! those hours ! 

So few, so precious yet, when she was mine ! 

Thank God, thank God, that I have never been 

Another woman's since, have never swerved 

From my enshrined memory of her. 

E'en to the toying with fair, willing hand ! 

Have kept a solitude in inner self 

And longing quenched in work ! For once she said, 

'Mid her white anguish in that parting scene 

*"Tis but for Time. Whatever may betide, 

Not one, the nearest, e'er shall enter in 

My spirit's secret place where thou alone 

Shalt be shut close. And when I pass away, 

Am free from this world's circumstance, be sure 

That thou wilt find me in the great beyond 

Thy very, very own ! All life shall be 

But death till then !" 

Those words have kept 
A steadfast faith for me through black despair. 
Through awful weariness of all things ; e'en 
'Mid reason's shrinking at appalling thought 
Of immortality, brain-questioning 
Of "Wherefore ?" and "What use of it?" and dread 
Of ennui's possible in endlessness ! 
For in my heart of heart hope slew grim doubt 
With promise of love's ceaseless ecstasy. 
And yet — it stings, stings worse than serpent fangs — 



The Old Love, 27 

This knowledge of my kind that I have won 

In this long strife for power and for place ! 

Do I not know that woman, e'en as man, 

Lives many lives, is feeling's palimpest, 

Where each new writing covers o'er the last, 

And that one last the only legible 

E'en to themselves ? Have I not seen resolve, 

The highest, finest, proudest, yielded up, 

Though slowly it might be as hardest rock 

Wears 'neath the water's drop, through daily means 

Of unperceived effect ? How can I then 

Keep trust that she, so tender through her sex, 

So wielded by impressions through the needs 

Of her soft nature, could have stood alone 

An unchanged Inner Me as I have done ! 

It scarce can be, but howsoe'er she clung 

With struggle or intent to that old past. 

The mouldering power of experience new 

On coming always must have swept it off, 

And other loves extinguished the first fire ; 

For she has been a wife and mother since ; 

And what devotion can e'er hold its own 

Against a mother's yearning for her child ? 

And she was wondrous capable of love. 

So that it seemed as if she could not live 

But in some love, or in love's atmosphere ! 

Yet "Not the nearest e'er," she said that day — 

And how she looked, upstanding straight and pale 

To say it without faltering — how she looked — 



28 The Old Love. 

As if all wills imperious that ruled 

This earth from its beginning met in hers 

And set the sternness of persistent force 

Forever on her face ! — It flashed on me 

That I had known but part of her till then, 

That she herself — that none had ever known 

What height, what depth, what might there was in her! 

Was it but spark struck from the moment's stress, 

Or true reverse of character's mild show ? 

Alas ! How know I ? For self-exiled then 

I have beheld her but in memory since ! 

And now in my old age I come anear, 

And all the years fall off, and I am stirred 

To see her once again. Though she may be 

Bowed down and wrinkled with her many cares 

And white-haired as myself, yet I shall know 

All truth of her in meeting face to face ! 

SHE. 

This letter — this — 'tis like the voice of Christ 
Calling to Lazarus ; it conquers death, 
Loosens my cerements, stirs life in me ! 
Not in this world, and with my mortal eyes 
Did I e'er think to see him once again ! 
Now, after all these years he comes to me ! 
And \o ! the joy and pain of that old time 
Strives with long deadness, as within that grave 
At far-off Bethany, renewing life 



The Old Love. 29 

Throbbed faint at first with all the gasps and throes 
Of an oncoming birth. And I had deemed 
That I should only wake from death once more 
When I should spring from earth to the unknown 
And leave this crypt of my existence here ! 
'Tis nigh on two score years since there was slain 
The woman that I was ; slain, buried deep 
Within the silence of my secret soul ! 
This woman that I am is dead, dead, dead, 
Since life is from the inward, and in me 
The inward is a tomb that shut close in 
My all of love ! This counterfeited me, 
This breathing simulacrum of mere flesh, 
Subsists but in externals, ne'er has let 
One feeling touch a depth, or pierce below 
The skin-deep show of knowledge how to act ; 
Has been all head, stronger and clearer head 
In that no heart cast up enfeebling mists ! 
What are these years to me ? Not years of life — 
But sleep — a night's sleep — full of changing dreams ; 
And scarce have left more trace than just a sleep. 
Forms bend, hands wither, dark hair bleaches white 
Of those who open their interior selves 
To sorrow, care, remorse, despair, and all 
Emotion's train, that leave their ageing marks. 
I knew not hope, nor grief, nor bliss, nor fret, 
Since that one day I died. The dead feel naught. 
But now these simple lines, these formal words 
That ask an interview, strike through the cold 



-^o The Old Love. 

And dull obstruction of sepulchral dark, 

And unsealed stone begins to roll away. 

Through sleep, through dreams, go back, go back, 

my soul, 
And quicken into life again 'neath memory's tone ! 
Not to those days, ah, never to those days 
Of exquisite delight in love's first glow, 
Lest such distress should seize on thee as filled 
The banished host at sight of heaven lost ! 
But back unto the last of thy old life. 
Revive the anguish, tell the story o'er. 
And reassure thyself that thou hast kept 
The promise made then ne'er to live again 
Till thou wert his once more — beyond the grave ! 

The only daughter of an ancient house. 
Youth and my human were so strong in me 
That all their thought of lineage and birth 
Was as an idle song. Earth's rank and wealth 
But outward gauds that decked the naked man. 
My love had but his manhood. I, with him. 
Was simple woman, nought disguised by state 
Or circumstance. Condition, name, fell off 
When his arms wrapped me in, my heart next his 
To one embodied feeling all transformed. 
But those akin disdained his lower grade 
Of social place, nor stooped from their own sphere 
In cognizance of character and worth ; 
And with the shallow arrogance of gold 



The Old Love. 31 

Esteemed unchosen poverty a crime ; 
And sought with railings, arguments and sneers 
To root impressions out engraft with life ; 
But could not change with pleadings, reasons, threats, 
. The Me which was become all Love. Besides, 
My instincts, in world-sophistries untrained, 
Clung fast to my own ownership, and held 
The right inalienable to be 
My own disposer ; brethren, sire, might claim 
Affection, interest, by the tie of blood. 
But equal with the daughter's, sister's debt 
Birth brought to individual free soul 
Interior enfranchisement from bonds. 
So spite of all forbiddings, still we met, 
And spite of urgings of another suit 
Of one who patient came in fond belief 
That while he waited on fruit out of reach 
Would ripen, and at last fall in his hand. 
We scarce had thought or fear but our strong wills 
Would make our oneness an acknowledged truth, 
And somehow, wrapped in our Elysian dream. 
We did not realize that it could end ; 
Till, warm and rosy with my love's last kiss, 
One day with springing step I wended home 
Through the long avenue of stately trees 
That led thereto ; and sudden, face to face 
My father met, all pale, with troubled eyes. 
He linked my arm in his, subdued my pace 
To his slow tread, and sighed like one in pain. 



32 • The Old Love. 

I see him still — shall I e'er cease to see 

That slender figure and that high-bred air, 

Those thin, cold lips, and glances sidelong cast? 

" He had a late to tell that I must hear," 

He softly said ; and then unraveled forth 

An unsuspected history of ill. 

How he in politics entangled grew, 

Although in ignorance of Law's great maze ; 

And partly out of vanity to be 

A leader, first ; and from excitement part. 

Got mixed with the wrong men, who, sharp and sly. 

Made him, unwitting still, their flattered tool 

To work their evil, and without intent — 

"God knows," he said, "without the least intent," 

He found himself deep dyed in treason's guilt. 

And liable at any moment near 

To loss of honor, fortune, life itself. 

He could not bear the old name should be stained, 

And those he loved cast out to hard world's wrath ; 

And there was but one way, but only one. 

And it all rested upon me, to save 

Honor and name, and life and gold ; on me ; 

On my small hand — and then he held it close, 

Lest when I heard it all I should start off 

And spurn the earth that bred such plotting brains, 

This suitor, who had taken no repulse. 

Held, of this danger, all the clues and proofs, 

Had such strong interest to betray the whole 

That but by equaling advantages 



The Old Love. • y^ 

Could he be rendered safe. That he loved me 
I knew full well ; would proffer soon his love ; 
Then if I wedded him would do no harm 
Against his marriage ties. If I refused, 
'Twould add a spur to possible intent, 
A vengeful motive unto self-weal sure. 
Certain he was that daughter of his house 
Would let no girlish fancy interpose 
Between her duty and her kin's sore need ! 

All this he spoke with that unruffled calm, 

Scarce raising his low voice, that breeding gives 

Unto patrician manners, so that one, 

Seeing us walk there 'twixt the bordering trees, 

Might think an idyl of a father's love, 

And child's responsive trust. 

The sun shone on, 
Afar the fields lay bright like pictures framed 
Between the mighty trunks. The peaceful sky, 
Serenely blue and still, spread over all. 
And at my feet as blue a violet slept — 
And ever since a violet has been 
Death's symbol, and its scent a charnel smell ! 
My bounding blood turned cold. Should I refuse. 
To live the murderess of my household raec, 
And poison all my future with remorse 
By satisfying selfhood's reckless bent ? 
Or with consent destroy all life in me. 
And die forevermore to hope and joy.' 



34 • The Old Love. 

And he — his trust — his happiness — My God, 
What awful anguish seized me at that thought ! 
I wrenched myself away from this man's grasp — 
My foe who slew my life with his ill deeds, 
Effacing fatherhood by holding fast 
To blood-link, not for love's sake, but base use — 
And fled, fled swift as if with hunted feet 
To my lone lair, to darkness, and such strife 
As devils must be glad of when they gloat 
O'er sin-wrought suffering. 

At the early dawn, 
I sought the trysting place, and summoned him, — 
My Love, my Love, I called you from your dreams 
Of passionate delight to meet a doom ! — 
Ah, how it stirs, this re-awakening life ! 
Be still, be still, my soul, and read thy weird ! 
Ah no ! Ah no ! E'en I, within the grave 
Of years' repression, cannot, dare not look 
Upon that morn again ! I should spring up 
Too quick alive, and quivering with old pain !— 
God's nobles do not always wear -a star ! 
My father was a noble, and that one 
He spoke of, wore their orders on their breasts 
For men to mark the fineness of their caste ! 
But this — this love of mine — no ribbon had 
To deck his rare worth then ! Yet God He knows 
If any on the earth was e'er his peer ! 
His manhood shone through all that anguished time 
As guiding light amid a dreadful storm ! 



The Old Love. 35 

But I — I died — I died there in his arms ! 
The woman that went back to face a fate 
Was but the outer casing of a corpse, 
Like those Egyptian sepulchres that bear 
•The surface likeness of a human face ! 

That very day this other suitor came, 

Protesting ardent love — he called it Love 

That bargained for possession, took no heed 

Of hurt or shrinking in the heart he wooed — 

To me, who died for it — to me — who knew 

Of one whose life was martyrdom for loss — 

That one who would have gone through fiercest fire 

And smiled 'mid flames to save me from a pang ! 

" We will not talk of love," I coldly said ; 

" You know it not ; and I have none to give. 

I tell you frankly, sir, that I am dead. 

You ne'er will reach my soul though you should strain 

Through all your mortal days. Is it worth while 

To buy me at such a price ? Would there not be, 

In generous grace to those within your power, 

More true reward in honest self-esteem 

And Mercy's tenderness ?" 

He made reply : 
" There is no human creature but o'erlives 
An early fancy ; and in time you too 
Will grow responsive to a husband's care. 
These treason-proofs I hold are all my gage 
That I shall win you now. I'll trust the rest. 



36 The Old Love. 

And as for souls — 'tis not with souls we live, 

But flesh and blood — keep your sweet soul for 

prayers ! 
You are the fairest woman in the realm ; 
I shall be proud to have you bear my name ; 
And if you lift that haughty head at Court 
Beneath my coronet as you do now, 
The queen herself will be out-queened in pride ! 
And I have waited long to be thus sure 
You could not choose but be my wife at last !" 
I think the scorn that settled round my mouth 
Fixed then its changeless lines ; the icy glance 
'Neath which he shivered, glazed fore'er my eyes ! 
" Then be it so," I cried. " It is a bond ! 
You shall have flesh and blood — no more than that — 
And but upon condition. Ere I wed 
You shall give o'er into these very hands 
All proofs and papers of this fatal web 
Entangling me and mine — or else — no wife !" 
He scowled, and caught his breath ; for he had 

thought 
To gloze with sentiment this barter o'er, 
And help my vanity to self-deceit. 
Then too, he fain had kept this threatening rod 
To awe a victim and her trembling kin. 
I only looked at him ; no shade of fear 
Humbled my gaze ; the potent sway of will, 
Unflinching and unsparing, ruled him then, 
And ever after ; he could turn from me 



The Old Love. 'iil 

No more than needle from the loadstone's spell ! 
"Your sword is longest," said he, " I will yield ; 
You are too beautiful to render up 
E'en though a plot should tear the kingdom down !" 
" You understand," I answered, " 'tis a bond — 
For you this woman-semblance flesh and blood — 
And all the outward seeming of a wife, 
With buried life you never can come nigh — 
For me — the freedom of my house — and you !" 
It seemed he would have cursed me, were it not 
For that race-courtesy that trains the tongue ; 
Or broke the chain that bound him — spite of wrath, 
But tliat he hugged the cankering coil too close ! 
And so he only muttered — " 'Tis a bond." 
And when I stood before my mirror next, 
I could have struck and marred my hated face 
Because he deemed it fair ! — but held my hand— 
For ah, my love had kissed that pallid brow 
And made it sacred even in my sight ! — 
I held my hand — we do not smite the dead ! 

Unseemly was the speed which hurried on 
My bridal day — for safety was in haste — 
And there might be just such discomfort too 
As some men feel when watching in cold blood 
A helpless creature slain when brought to bay. 
The groom besides had formed a vague belief 
That marriage would effect some magic change 
Of never altered c^ilm to passion's glow. 



38 The Old Love. 

The wedding-bells were ringing. Two were met 

Within the stately library where fell 

A solemn splendor through the colored glass 

On book-lined walls and white busts of the great. 

I entered in in all the costly sheen 

Of priceless lace and shimmer of rare stones — 

The family heritage on either side — 

It seemed as if the gold and crimson lights 

Strove to shed warmth upon my snowy state, 

And in transfigurating glory wrapped 

My shining dress and coronetted head. 

They spoke no words, those twain — but gazed at me 

As sacrificial priests before the stroke 

Must once have looked on Iphigenia bound 

Upon their heathen shrine. 

I stretched my hand, 
And one within it laid some papers sealed 
Then, spite of ringing bells and waiting guests, 
And bridegroom's frowning brow,and parents' shame, 
I read them one by one, and counted o'er 
Each separate proof ; then asked my anxious sire 
If all were there down to the smallest hint ; 
The other's face flushed hot. But faith was kept. 
Then on the burning logs I laid them all. 
And smoke of them went out the chimney wide 
To taint pure a-ir vibrating with the clang 
Of those loud wedding-bells — that pealed a knell ! 



The Old Love. 39 

I kept my bond — nought flesh or blood could do 

Was left undone ; no wifely duty failed. 

If stronger mind and vision clear controlled 

His daily course, regardless of conceit 

Or throes rebellious, he could not but own 

He was set higher by the wit not his. 

I gave his rank such grace that he was proud, 

The proudest envied him. And in his home 

No jarring care disturbed his idle peace. 

I tended him in sickness ; stood with him 

By open graves, that were some his, some mine ; 

Gave him all service of the head and hand 

From greatest unto simplest ; and yet ne'er 

In all those years once showed or knew one trace 

Of aught like feeling. 

At the first he took 
The outward for the real, and was content. 
Slowly a wakening came on him ; too late 
A something, finer, truer, stirred his soul, 
When passion's mockery of Love was gone, 
And Love itself disturbed with keen desire 
For closer marriage than the clasping hands, 
For spirit mingling, share of inner life. 
Too late, too late ! His torment never pierced 
Below my sight of it ; no pity e'en 
For haggard suffering moved me more than might 
Have softened the sereneness of the dead ! 
It grew to be a misery that he ne'er 
Could grope beneath the surface, nor come near 



40 The Old Love. 

The buried silence of the secret depths. 
And out of his strong pain there came at last 
A knowledge that his anguish rose from mine ; 
And tenderness sprang forth from keen remorse, 
And made him other than the man he was. 
What was it unto me ? I kept my bond. 
And when his death-time came it found him gray 
And prematurely old, while I stood by 
With strange-kept beauty all undimmed by age. 
" Forgive me, oh, forgive me !" then, he cried, 
*' I knew not what I did in selfish lust 
To call you mine ! Have you no word at last 
To slake the thirst I die of ?" And I said ; 
" The dead do not forgive — no living pain 
Affects the immobility that lies 
Unanswering, unchanged. The dead are dead." 
He lifted up his arms unto the heavens ; 
" Is she a stone — this woman — " he exclaimed, 
"Who wears a woman's attributes ? Or worse — 
A soulless thing like Sirens of old tales 
That lured men to destruction ? O my God ! 
Give her a soul for just this parting hour 
That I may have a hope for world to come I" 
" One morning long ago," I calmly spoke, 
"You made a bond with me — for flesh and blood- 
Have I not kept the bond ? I told you then 
My soul was out of reach. I tell you now, 
That in the Great Hereafter you will be 
No nigher to the unapproached Me 



The Old Love. 41 

Than you have ever been. Till death do part 

You will have flesh and blood — no more than that." 

He groaned a groan of infinite despair, 

Then in long stillness thought ; until at length, 

" My wife," he said, " I think somewhat there is 

For me too to forgive. E'en though I die 

Of hunger in the desert, I forgive, 

And bless you also, since through you 'twas given 

That Love should lead me from the slough of self, 

And be its own reward. I sorrowed much, 

But I am better that I loved you, dear, 

And so can love you through Eternity, 

Though resurrected feeling of your youth 

Space wider than creation 'twixt us spread !" 

E'en this no closer touched me than a wind 

Blown o'er a tomb ; nor any time or word 

More solemn seemed than other — I was dead ! 

I bore his children — they were his — not mine ! 
I put them from me from their very birth. 
Lest soft hands on my breast should wake the dead. 
Nothing of me was in them — they were his — 
They wore his looks — repeated o'er and o'er 
Their father's being — were so much of him 
There was no room for me ; Nature itself 
Conspired that nought of mine should pass to them, 
Myself thus tempting self. I never took 
One in my arms, and shut their voices out 
From all my daily haunts. I would not give 



42 The Old Love. - 

E'en these one throb of tenderness lest life 
Should upward spring, and rob of his sole right 
My lost beloved. 

And yet I trained them well — 
Put all my brains at that — trained them so well 
They never had a will or wish but mine ; 
And I took clearest wisdom for a guide, 
But most of all took heed — for they were girls — 
They should not know their hearts ere they were 

wed ! 
I married them to noblest in the land ; 
For men were proud to take from such a hand 
Such daughters for their wives. And if they loved 
Their husbands I nor knew nor cared — 
I had made sure they felt no love before, 
Not e'en a mother's. For I kept my bond 
To his as well as him, — for flesh and blood ! 

And now — a time has come — has come at last — 

That husband — children — never could command — • 

When just these words upon a paper writ 

Break all the tomb seals, and life struggles forth ! 

My love, my youth, comes back to me again ! 

And with my soul-sleep flit away long years 

Of intermediate dreams. He comes, 

He comes, my Love, who in world's worth ranks 

now 
Far higher than all those who scorned him once ! 
Ah, all his crowning honors — nay, though earth, 



The Old Love. 43 

Whole earth itself should set him on a throne 
Of universal state and sceptered power — 
Could never make him more or less than that 
He always was — a Man ! The Man of Men ! 
I do remember once my father sought 
To stir the statue calm was his reproach, 
By reading out the glories he had gained, 
Casting his sidelong glance upon my face. 
To mark if stone thus flung within my depths 
Would send its circles to my changeless mien. 
I fixed his shifting eye with my full gaze, 
And with unshaken voice replied to him : 
" To those king-born no title can make great ; 
And triumph echoes do not move the dead !" 
But thus I knew by his own deeds he stood 
Peer of the mightiest. It was nought to me 
More than his cloak or sword. My love was he, 
Who, nameless, landless, gave me life of life ! 
But oh — this sleep — this death — will it pass off 
And leave me all alive as once I was 
To meet him with old gladness ? O my soul 
Thy quickening thrills must shake the fetters off 
Of habit's coldness ! For he comes — he comes ! 



44 The Old Love, 



AFTER. 

HE. 

So like, and yet so changed ! Time scarce has left 

A mark upon her slender, graceful form, 

Or trace of all these years upon her brow ! 

Her very hands have kept their smooth, white youth, 

And in the wavy shadows of her hair 

Still lurk the golden gleams ! But that slow pace, 

So different from the agile, airy step 

Of her blithe girlhood — so funereal like, 

Seemed as a mourner's tread that bore dead hope ! 

And those strange eyes, so stony cold, yet keen, 

As though they gazed, without one gleam of light 

Into each spirit's secret place, and took 

The measure of each motive ! And that mouth — 

So dimpling soft and rosy smiling once — 

Great God ! what scorn, and hate, and stern resolve, 

She must have known to change her mouth like that I 

It was as if that moment long ago, 

When her strong will uplifted her from woe 

To say unfaltering, " 'Twill be death in life 

To me until we two shall meet again !" 

Had fixed its power and fulfillment then 

Upon her face forever ! " Death in life !" 

I did not deem that these were more than words 



The Old Love. 45 

To emphasize her constancy ! But now — 

That pallor rare — that frozen mien bespeak 

A life of buried memories and dreams ; 

Yet to unknowing sight would naught convey 

Through stoic aspect of such still repose. 

Her stately courtesy might have greeted kings ; 

The polished frost of her set phrases spread 

A frigid elegance o'er intercourse 

That curbed emotion into self-restraint. 

If she saw change in me, she made no sign ; 

If she remembered aught of that fond past 

She spoke no word ; if she was moved within, 

No tremor of it stirred her eyes or lips. 

It seemed to me before I entered in 

Her presence chill, that I could never keep 

My life-long yearning for her in due bounds ; 

That I should all forget that she had been 

A wife and mother, and at touch of hand 

Must snatch her to my breast, and feel again 

Old rapture of those far off days ; must fling 

My pent-up tenderness in frenzied speech ! 

And so I strictly schooled myself to meet 

All social needs — I counted up the years 

So long between us full of other ties. 

And set them sentries o'er my softer mood. 

And masked all meaning in my guarded looks. 

Alas, what mattered it ? I was as like 

To clasp a marble statue in my arms. 

Or breath of passion to the rigid Sphynx ! 



46 The Old Love. 

She talked to me of honors I had won, 

Of countries I had seen, of books and men ! 

Her sentences were epigrams — her wit 

Brilliant and pointed as a duel-sword. 

Ah, my young love ! my innocent, fair love \ 

So full of joy — so bouyant — so untouched 

By worldliness — if I might render up 

All so-called gain — my hard-won fame and place, 

Nay — very life itself, to give you back 

Your happy youth, 'twould be light thing to do ! 

Ah, curses, curses on the evil deeds 

Of plotting men that brought you to this pass ! 

Sure am I that if my untiring love 

Could but have guarded her from every ill. 

The sweetness never would have left the face 

That turned to me of yore so warmly bright ! 

She looks like one in whom all love is killed ! 

Ah me ; her love for me ! her love for me ! 

Is that all wrecked ? How eagerly I watched 

For any sign of living passion still ! 

For it did seem at times as outward show 

Of shining coldness was but armor worn 

To shield the inward ! or like glittering ice 

'Neath which the surging waters ever flow ! 

Perchance this armor has been worn so long 

The human knows not how to slough it off ! 

Perhaps the ice is frozen through so deep 

The hidden waters never can burst through J 

And yet methinks, beneath the adamant 



The Old Love. 47 

Is burning lava yet ! For on her cheeks 
Two fever spots of gradual flame arose ; 
And in her hands such restlessness was sliown 
It seemed as though they would have wrung them- 
selves 
In wild unquiet ! — My Love ! my Love !— 
I should have spoken out, all unappalled 
By eyes and mouth ! For in her voice at last 
Mingled a pathos as of coming sobs ! 
My Love, my Love, I think love is not dead ! 
And I will wait — will wait — until defence 
Of armor is torn off the struggling soul ! 
Until the rising waters overflow ! 
And lava breaks through rock ! Dear Love, I wait ! 

SHE. 

Gone, gone — and all is lost ! O, soul of mine, 
Thy death-bonds are so strong they could not rend 
Thy way to life again ! Oh, awful years 
Of self-withdrawal from all sympathy, 
Ye have so shrouded the sharp, quickening throes 
With custom's calm, that Love itself is numbed 
In Arctic atmosphere ! So long, so long 
Have I entombed the feelings of my youth 
From every presence, that e'en his could not 
Draw them to freedom in the glare of day ! — 
Yet he was here ! — It was not some mad dream — 
His hair was white ! — I think because 'twas white, 



48 The Old Love. 

And that his head was stately as a king's 

I could not leap to meet him with glad smiles 

As I might once have done ! For I ne'er thought 

To see him other than his olden self ! — 

Ah me, the years, the years ! — Oh, why, my soul, 

Must thou lie hid as from thine enemies 

Before the love that questioned from his eyes? 

There is no change in that — the old, old love ! — 

It filled the air, and compassed me about. 

Yet I shrank from it, could not brook its warmth, 

Because my struggling soul had borne so long 

The lonely coldness of a silent grave, 

It is not pliable, thus habit-swathed 

With strong repression, to spring into light 

And speech and happiness, with sudden bound !— 

'Tis vengeance of the Lord ! If I had kept 

Some sweet humanities alive in me, 

Nor let relentless pride and hate so bind 

Existence with indifference, till all 

My buried being was so fettered in 

It knew not how to burst its wonted thrall, 

I might have greeted him with blissful ease 

Of one translated into Paradise ! — 

My husband — you spoke true — something there was 

For you too to forgive. I was too hard ! — 

And oh — my babies — my unmothered babes ! 

Would not the tender clinging of their arms. 

The pressing of those little mouths, have reached 

Through death and solitude, and made me live ; 



The Old Love. 49 

So when he came at last I miglit not be 
What I had made myself, a willing dead ! 
How can I bear these yearnings that awake 
With my arising soul ? O God, my God, 
Have mercy, for my punishment is great ! 
The passion of my youth up-heaves again, 
And all my youth has past ! My love has come, 
Has come, and gone, and I could make no sign ! 
My love — for whom I died ! — My love, for whom 
I burst the grave sealed by my slaying will ! 
My love, who never guessed that he beheld 
A whited sepulchre — of stirring life ! 
And he has gone — and never understood 
That I have kept my parting word with him. 
And met him truly but beyond the tomb ! — 
No mortal flesh can e'er endure these pangs ! 
Give me but time — a little time, my God, 
Still in this world to look on him again ! 
The guarded stone is rolled away at last ! — 
The spirit free has cast its grave clothes off, 
And like deep calling unto deep, cries out 
Unto its only love, that nought on earth. 
Save striking of the flesh by God's own hand 
Shall hold it back from him ! Oh God, my God, 
Slay but Thy judgment on this failing frame ! — 
For all the love of old was in his eyes ! — 
Oh, give me time ! — I summon thee, my love ! 



50 The Old Love, 



HE. 

At last — at last — the burning lava burst 

Througli prisoning rock — the waters have o'er 

flowed ! 
But oh, my love, would I had died for tliee ! 
Or would that I could die ! For nevermore 
Will sight of her wild agony of bliss 
Pass from my sorrowing sense. Ne'er again 
These sad arms cease with emptiness to ache. 
I went to her all quivering with hope, 
And almost felt as when I was a boy 
And waited for her full of tender dreams : 
My heart was hot beneath my whitened head 
As untrained heart of youth — Love has no age ! — 
She stood, up-risen from a pillowed couch. 
With hands crossed on her breast, and eyes intent 
Upon the doorway ! When I entered in 
She spoke no word, but such a blaze of joy 
Flashed in her face, 'twas revelation's light, 
And I forgot all else — the years — the pain — 
And saw but my young love come back to me — 
One step, and I had caught her close, — so close ! — 
Then on the silence broke such awful sobs 
It seemed as Nature could not bear the strain ; 
And I could only hold her close, — so close — 



The Old Love. 51 

And rain my kisses on the pallid face ; 

Until she lay like to a tired child 

Upon my breast, and told me all her life, — 

Her life ! — Her death ! Her very death in life ! — 

Oh, then I thanked Thee, God, that I had kept 

Such stainless faith to her, could listen there, 

Without one tingling blush or thrill of shame, 

Unto fidelity's most fearsome tale I 

Then fell Time's chill on me, that there should be 

Such short space left of life for one to strive 

With being's whole devotion to repay 

Such suffering and such love ! She lifted up 

Those strange, sweet eyes to mine, and answered me : 

" Dear love — the past is but a dream — 'tis gone ! 

'Tis but a moment in the cycles vast 

That stretch before our spirits. We have all 

God's great Eternity to love in yet !" 

And then as if she gazed beyond this world 

Into the sureness of unfading peace. 

Her face grew luminous with wondrous grace ; 

"See, love," she cried, "the sting of death is o'er ! 

The grave has lost its victory ! I live ! 

Love-raised, love-quickened into endless life. 

Thine own forevermore !" 

Oh Love, my Love ! 
Thy last words echoed from the hidden shores 
Of Immortality ! 

Once more we part ! 



52 The Old Love. 

Yet oft it seems to me that she is near, 
As one can feel a presence in the dark ! 
I only wait till death dispels the gloom, 
And I shall see her in the happy light 
Of our Eternal Day ! 

Once more I wait ! 



THE 



LION IN A MENAGERIE. 



The Lioji in a Menagerie. 55 



THE LION IN A MENAGERIE. 



I turn and turn between these bolts and bars, 
And up and down I pace and pace this den, 
I — Lion of the Desert — in whose ken 

Were once the boundless distance, countless stars ! 

These stifling walls, this close shut cell for me. 
That roamed at will from forest unto stream. 
Or 'neath the soaring palms laid down to dream 

Of flying prey, imperially free ! 

Mine was dominion of the stretching plain, 

Where, stalking lone, my roar shook trembling beasts, 
And where 'mid wilderness staid royal feasts ! 

Ah, solitude of that old life in vain 

I long and pant for that leaf shaded lair 

But lioness fight won might safely share ! 



But here, here, here, these creatures' eyes do mock 
My conquered strength, as circled round my cage, 
They watch secure against the prisoned rage 

That still can all their cowering natures shock. 

For lo ! in one unchanged, defiant roar, 
If I but lift resounding, threatening voice. 



56 The Lion in a Menagerie. 

They couch supine with fear ; and I rejoice 
With my one gladness that forevermore 
The lion's menace quells the jackall's laugh, 

The bear's rough growl, the eagle's shrilling screech ! 

Ah — ah — for one long spring their throats to reach 
With unsheathed claws, and fright-chilled blood to quaff ! 
But I, like them, shall hunter's victim die 
Craft-trapped, 'neath roof, instead of open sky ! 



One blessing only does such captive know. 

That lendeth freedom's charm a welcome space. 
Prized boon of sleep — transforming state and place 

To range unchecked where wide horizon's glow. 

Once thus with couching head on outstretched paw,' 
I marched from shadow of some ruins vast. 
Whose shattered pillars of a grandeur past 

The lion's shelter and the human awe ; 

And while in waking vision gazing still 

Dream-dazed o'er dazzling waste of desert-plain, 
This vivid picture flashed from brain to brain 

Electric stirring watching artist skill ; 

And slumber-chasing voice spoke comrade-joj-, 

" For aye with lions fame links Delacroix !" 



Men deem their speech a privilege of race 
Exclusive of all knowledge save their own- 



The Lion in a Menagerie. 57 

While any creature in their every tone 

The meaning, and the feeling too can trace ; 

Although no man has learned 3-et to translate 
The wordless language that within each kind 
The world of animals through nature find 

Communication's fit articulate; 

And lying lazily with half-closed eyes 
I listened to the converse of these twain, 
Till, vague and dim, like mist of distant rain, 

Began strange phantom memories to rise 

Of antique lore, old other life intense. 

With transmigration's, evolution's sense. 



So raising thought pierced head that sudden seemed 
As weighted with gray age, I sat up straight, 
Impelled to see the secret things of Fate 

That meteor-like on hapless Present gleamed ; 

" Thus shalt thou sit," said one, " beside the Seine ; 
A monumental type of lonely power, 
Twin-mated by thyself, predicting hour 

Of mystic forecast, when unequaled reign 

Fulfills, in Paris, Time's prophetic law 
Of world Avator ; who, as One before 
Shall be the East, yet rule the whole West o'er ! 

And looking on thy face — " Our Barye saw" — 



58 The Li 071 in a Menagerie, 

Shall sage men say : " In lion-likeness rare 
Is wisdom vvierd of Orient cycles there !" 



" Ay," spoke the other, " he may come again. 
The Great Napoleon, whose very name 
Meant " Lion of the Desert," not the same 
In form or feature, but the spirit strain 
Unchanged from image of the lion-force ! — 
And as this one, bronze still as yours will be, 
Outstares his prison, o'er the ruthless sea 
From rock Promethean, his sight's long course 
Beheld, perchance, more empire than he lost ! 
Mayhap was laurelled Caesar once again, 
Greek Alexander, Ghengis, Tamerlane, 
Rameses towering o'er a vanquished host ! 
Yet now — who knows ? — may in this creature state 
Here expiate the past, the future wait !" 



** Who knows, indeed," was solemn answer made, 
What unsolved mysteries of death in life 
And life in death in every being rife 

Are on immortal soul as burdens laid ! 

But let us thankful be, we lesser men 

Than this Napoleon of your fancy's sight, 



The Lion in a Menagerie. 59 

That all wliich was, or yet may be, in flight 
Of forms and ages, is flesh hid from ken !" 
And then they went their way. No lions tliey 
To inward tumult as by tempest stirred 
With ancient, modern, speculative word ! 
To feel the ocean-wind cast hoary spray 
Of centuries across a barren height. 
Yet still unquelled keep garnered lion might ! 

8 

For at the magic titles, " Paris," " Seine," 
Confused I heard a flowing river's sound 
'Mid echoes of unbroken walls around ; 

Triumphant passed o'er stony ways again ; 

And when " Napoleon " thrilled my carnal frame. 
Came up through avenues all thronged with eyes 
Like surge of deafening waves that rise, sink, rise, 

Reverberating shoutings of that name ! 

Then felt my brow-weight was an iron crown ! 

Smelt war-red carnage ! Joined with mine the roar 
On cannon-conquest spreading kingdoms o'er ; 

And then — a falling horror, down and down, 

Till blazed in fire on rock 'mid pathless sea 

The fatal " Waterloo " death-charged with me ! 

9 

For was not I that man — that destined One ? — 
A moment's clearance strange of Being's cloud, 



6o The Lion in a Menagerie, 

Mind-clutcliecl through beast's obscure, allowed 

Long trail of vision o'er career time-run — 

Ah — ah — if he — why not those other Great ? — 
Then gathered I all strength of sternest will 
From that supremest power latent still 

To catch self-hold on farther human state ; 

And lo ! like mirage-wonders on the sand, 

That flash with realness o'er approaching sight, 
And fade deceptive in excess of light 

When striving nearness finds but empty land, 

Phantasmagoria of fates apart 

Did o'er identitys eternal start ! 

lO 

Led lives mediaeval through plottings deep 
Of subtlety that guided martial gift 
Where Roman phases signal echoes swift 
Of " lo Caesar," " Et tu. Brute," aye keep ! — 
O'er ravaged countries sweeping in the van 
As fusing soul of rushing Asian hordes. 
Pulsed barbarous pride unbridled power affords 
In fleeting shade of conquering Tartar Khan ! — 
Heard through long eras phalanx triumph hails 
Link battle names, " Abylos !" " Austerlitz !" 
And 'twixt colossi Pharaoh faith submits 
To custom hierophantic law entails ; 
" Sleep, son of Ra !" a voice from Sphynx arose, 
" The Temple Sleep that earthly future shows !" 



The Lion in a Menagerie. 6i 



II 

Oh, what a dream of life's successive range 

Through masks all fitted for the nature's growth, 
Where rich advance and retrogressions both 

Were harvesting experience from change ! 

Till I beheld 'neath Oriental sky 

A plain immense whereon outstretching view 
Knelt nations prone of every tongue and hue, 

A marvellous multitude, 'mid whom on high 

Sat One upon a lofty golden throne, 

'Neath canopy emblazoned o'er with bees ; 
And at each side like guarding destinies 

The Lions of the Seine ; and on his own 

Was that majestic look of wisdom hoar 

Their moulded visages so weirdly bore. 



His foot was on a lion ; o'er his head 

The Roman eagle held a gem-starred crown, 
Where every jewel had engraven on 

A kingdom's name ; across his knees was laid 

Two crossing keys upon an unsheathed sword ; 
And in his hand he held a lotus-flower. 
The concentration of all empire power 

Was in his awful mien, when at a word 



62 The Lion in a Menagerie. 

A myriad weapons flashed upon the air, 
And all the host as by one vision spelled, 
A city far and glorious beheld, 

With world-controlling sceptre lifted there! 

And then like thunders rolling on and on 

To upper vastness rang " Napoleon !" 



13 

Napoleon ! Napoleon ! that mighty shout 

Swelled 'gainst a " Paris " written in my heart. 
And woke me with a lion's wildered start 
To bolts and bars and cages all about ! — 
No longer am I mocked with creatures' eyes ; 
No more defiant roars curb petty spleen ; 
For striving in me with shall be, has been, 
The human with the brute commingling lies, 
And sets its growing mark on massive face ; 
For oft, perplexed, this Barye since has gazed 
To grasp elusive something that amazed 
His artist insight 'yond the modelling trace ; 
Yet touch by touch wrought in his lions dumb 
A prophecy of One Who Is To Come ! 



Fi'aiicis ] 11 Ion, Poet. 6 



J 



FRANCIS VILLON, POET 

When Master Francis Villon, 

Outlaw and cut-throat, thief, 
For crimes abode in prison. 

From death saw no relief ; 
His limbs galled sore with fetters, 

Shut out from light and air ; 
Half killed with cruel torture, 

Quite starved into despair ; 
Then 'mid his only comrades, 

Snakes, rats, upon the floor, 
And with no other listener 

Than jailor at the door ; 
He sang a song of " Fortune " 

To comfort his sad strait, 
Forgotten in the darkness 

His mortal end to wait. 

Was it a toad enraptured 

That croaked it in the moat ? 
Or hard-voiced jailor gurgling 

The lay within his throat? 
It strayed out to the sunshine 

Somehow from dungeon night ; 
And rhyme of Villon's Fortune 

Far pulsed in air and light. 



64 Francis Villon^ Poet. 

King Louis, riding proudly 

In progress through the land, 
Saw front of Meung's castle 

Before him frowning stand ; 
His Fool beside him jingled 

His staff of silver bells : 
" Now read my riddles, Louis ; 

Shall pearls lie lost in wells ? 
Or fosse of yonder fortress, 

Through Preacher of the Word, 
Be changed by voice of Fortune 

To cage for singing bird ?" 
And on the right a courtier 

Sang softly, sweet and low, 
"The Old Time Ladies' Ballad," 

And " Where is Last Year's Snow?" 
Was tenderly re-echoed 

Among the cavaliers, 
Till fused with gentle sadness, 

The very breeze breathed tears. 
Then on the left a courtier 

Took up another strain, 
Of "Old Time Lords a Ballad," 

And througli the king's long train 
Rang out earth's deepest question 

In human-born refrain. 
Soul-stirring men 'neath grandeurs, 

"Where's doughty Charlemaine ?" 



Francis Villon, Poet. 65 

While near, a wayside beggar 

Loud carolled mid the trees, 
" In life there is no treasure 

But just to have one's ease !" 
And then from some one hidden 

Tlie words were solemn borne, 
"True hearts by Christ are bounden 

To succor one forlorn !" 

" Methinks," then quoth King Louis, 

"The music in the air 

Is all a-rhyme with Villon, 

That poet debonnaire ; 
Through all my people's spirits. 

Lord, peasant, high and low. 
He here to-day is singing — 

How does his ' Fortune ' go ?" 

Up then out-spoke the jester, 

" Ask toad in yonder moat 
Who caught its first faint numbers 

From Villon's gag-strained throat !" 

Forth stepped Orleans' stern Bishop, 

(Well Villon cursed his name !) 
Proclaiming to the monarch 

The poet's crimes and shame ; 
"Assassin, drunkard, robber, 

Companion of the vile, 



66 Francis Villon, Poet. 

Knave, gambler and despoiler, 

Adept in every wile ; 
For evil deeds unnumbered 

The court awarded death ; 
No more soon e'en in dungeon 

Will sound his tuneful brcatli !" 

" Ho, ho," the jester's mockery 

Sharp tinkled with his bell, 
"Read, Louis, are my riddles, 

Song-pearl and castle-well ! 
But good my Lord the Bishop, 

That none hear caged bird sing, 
Lock up your newts and tadpoles 

That Villon's Fortune bring !" 

For Louis murmured " Villon," 

And Louis wore a smile. 
And smiles were scarce with Louis 

Whose face was grave with guile : 
" Good Bishop," then he answered. 

Rein marking measure slow, 
As on his right sang courtier, 

" Ah, where is last year's snow ?" 
" Within this France, our Kingdom, 

Full many rogues befall ; 
At least a hundred thousand, — 

We well might hang them all !" 



Francis Villon, Poet. 67 

And up and down his fingers 

Still swayed the rhythmic rein, 
As on his left trolled courtier, 

"Where's doughty Charlemaine ?" 
"But not another poet 

Like Villon could we make ! 
So set him free, good Bishop, 

For rarest song's sweet sake !" 
Then chirped the wandering beggar 

Among the rustling trees, 
" Sure know I there's no treasure 

Except to have one's ease !" 
And as the king rode onward 

By wind were these words borne, 
"True hearts by Christ are bounden 
To succor one foilora 1" 



68 One of the Commune . 



ONE OF THE COMMUNE. 

Yes, I am one of tliem, one of the Commune, 

A man of the people — a man, that is all. 

Not learned in much book-lore, but born with my brains, 

And a soul — or something that swells in my frame 

At the thought of the many crushed down by few. 

Till it seems to my sense gigantic to grow 

'Gainst the wrongs of dumb peoples ; feels in its arms 

The strength of blind Samson that pulled down the roof 

On Philistines making their sport of his might ! 

One drop in the wave that leaps up like a wall, - 

As in far Southern seas, scarce muttering of storm, 

Then sweeps in an awful and death-bearing flood 

O'er the landmarks of ages, thundering ingulfs 

The churches, the forts, the carved monuments reared 

To the glory of bloodshed, graved with proud names 

Gained by marching red-shod o'er sacrificed lives ! 

But I know why I fought, I knov/ why that wave, 

An aggregate fearful of atoms obscure, 

Rose up as the earth shook with menace of change 

And did its dire work, and fell back to its place. 

Ensanguined with dead things that floated atop ! 

Build dykes, O ye rich ! Set your thrones, O ye kings, 

'Mid your courtiers on shore ; command back that sea ! 

What worth in the barriers when wind of its wrath 

Stirs the leveling deep ? Did Canute sit firm 



One of the Commune. 69 

When the dark mocking ocean swept o'er his feet ? 
Ah, we knew what we fought for, 7£'^ knew who stood 
Mong tlie wild whirling mass like clear thoughts out- 
spoke 
'Mid lunatic fancies of curses and song ; 
For lo ! as tlie smoke of your cannon upcurled, 
Misty hands of millions unborn waved us on. 
And the sound of your guns but echoed their cry 
" Fight for us. Brothers ! Make humanity free ."" 
And an army of ghosts pressed on us behind, 
And their voice floated up through shouts of the strife, 
" Avenge us ! Stand firm 'twixt the future and past !" 
And we knew though we died, though iron-clad heels 
Should stamp on our graves till the traces were gone. 
And not e'en a dewy-leaved daisy should lift 
Its tender head there in token of love, 
The seed we were sowing would spring up in fruit. 
Fed to ripeness by blood, our blood, which we poured 
In solemn libations on altar of faith ! 
And when Time shall tear stinging Calumny's mask 
Off faces now hid from the world's judging sight, 
Ours will wear not a blush that glowed in the van 
Of fierce battle To-day ! for ah ! they will shine 
In eyes of To-morrow with holy ideas ! — 
Mere ideas, you say ; — but ideas are the wheels 
That roll up the earth on her course through the heavens 
Towards the Sun of Achievement ! Then when she 

stands 
Bright with Liberty's light, warm with Truth's rays, 



70 One of the Commune. 

She will know 'twas our work that made smooth the road ! 

Do we long for no more ? that fame keep our names ? 

Bah ! No ; it is good to have helped this great world 

To reach her grand goal ; that though, eases the tomb 

We go to in darkness, defeat — not despair ! 

For nations look on while our last breath departs, 

And the peoples, the peoples of lands far and near, 

Lift listening heads as ours drop to tlie ground, 

And link resolute hands, stand upright as men, 

For they hear, O they hear, through cannon and shells, 

Through Music of Triumph, our rallying cry ; 

And their crown-shaking breath catches up our faint gasp 

And it rings round the globe, " Vive, vive La Commune !" 

And when like that shape on yon trophy o'erthrown, 

Your Bonapartes, Bourbons, lie broken in dust, 

'Gainst clear sky of Justice one figure shall stand 

Sublime through the ages ; a grey-headed man 

With breast bared to bullets. True brothers to come, 

That barricade pedestal mounted by him 

\^ your Column Vendome ! 

My turn, did you say ? 
'Tis well ; I am ready. What terror has death 
For us who have seen our Delcscluze die ? 
Have I any last words for loved one or friend ? 
You're kinder, my soldier, than most of your caste. 
No need to speak low, or to bend down your head ; 
My last words are for you, for France, for the world. 
And I say them out loud — " Vive, vive La Commune !" 



Bajazet. 71 



BAJAZET. 



Aloft upon a grassy hill 

There sat a shepherd swain, 
And played upon his rustic pipe 

A simple, plaintive strain ; 
His heart was in the music sweet, 

He looked nor here, nor there, 
As through the sunny stillness stole 

The tones of tender air. 

His feeding flock around him made 

The slopes of verdure white 
Amid the calm of brooding peace 

In noontide's golden light ; 
As swelled from happy innocence 

The gentle roundelay 
In melody of inner world 

That sped the lonesome day. 

Below o'er the echoing, startled plain 
Surged sudden the pomp of martial train ; 
An army that marched in strife's array. 
With glitter of splendor on vengeful way ; 
For fury raged high o'er stifled grief 
In haughty resolve of royal chief. 

Since out from the depths of steppes vast 
The Tartar had rushed to fair Sebaste 



72 Bajazet. 

With hordes that had razed its towers down, 
And changed into desert dearest town, 
With all of its people scattered, slain, 
By sword of unsparing Tamerlane. 

The Sultan's own son, beloved and brave, 

Met doom of the captured in bloody grave ; 

And forth in a storm of hate and woe 

The monarch swift whirled to face his foe ; 

When tempest of host for battle ripe 

Was thrilled through by strains of peaceful pipe. 

They touched his full heart 'neath shield of wrath, 

And cast sorrow's prescience o'er his path ; 

"Ah, Swain," cried he, "let thy burden be 

Unhappy Bajazet, never to see 

Again thy bright days of pleasure past, 

Thy son, or thy city, fair Sebaste !" 

Then on to his fate the Sultan swept. 

And quiet once more o'er hillside crept ; 

But victor another victor found ; 

And loaded with chains, like wild beast bound. 

He crouched in his cage 'mid conqueror's train, 

Bereft of life's all by fierce Tamerlane. 

And oft when the Tartar watched him there, 
Saw stony eyes set in hapless stare 
As brooding o'er power forever fled, 



Bajazet. 73 

And deemed that he dreamed of glory dead, 
Bajazet but listened in soul again 
To music of simple shepherd swain. 

For still upon the grassy hill 

His pipe the shepherd played ; 
No stir among the feeding flock 

An empire's fall betrayed ; 
Yet 'mid the artless, wistful notes 

Of guileless rustic strain 
A something deeper earnest flowed — ^- 

A chord of human pain. 



74 TJie Lark's Song. 



THE LARK'S SONG. 

" No larks live in this land ;" 
From early childhood I had heard it said ; 

Yet ever longed to hear 
A soaring lark's voice from a high cloud shed. 

Oft watching in the fields, 
I looked for lonely nest upon the ground, 

From which two fluttering wings 
Should upward float on rising waves of sound. 

On crumb-spread window-sill 
I heard the welcome robins whistling clear, 

And Summer in their notes 
Stirred Spring to start from breast of Winter drear. 

And in the arbor vines 
The tender, tiny wren's low chirping filled 

Their leafy screen, and flowed 
Into the sun like rythmic rain-drops spilled. 

The unseen thrush's strain 
Shook like a holy thing the hawthorn hedge. 

That, as the burning bush 
From which God spake, glowed at the meadow's edge. 

And mid the mellow calm 
Of that still hour when day and evening meet. 



The Lark's Song. 75 

AH Nature's chorussed voice 
A many-throated mocking-bird sang sweet. 

Each brought to heart and brain 
A subtle something never caught by word ; 

A widening of vague love ; 
Yet still I said, " The Lark's voice is not heard .'" 

Across the seas at last, 
I listened to the nightingale at night 

Half-swooning in the flood 
Of plaintiff melody thrilled with delight. 

That woke the buried dead 
Of youth and hopes and happy dreams of yore, 

Till all my spirit's chords 
Were tuned with memory's music of "no more." 

" The nightingale," I said, 
" Sings sweetest with her breast against a thorn, 
And sad her gladdest song ; 
But of pure joy the Lark's light lay is born !" 

Once from a golden field 
Of waving wheat I saw a speck upstart 

Mid breathless harmony 
That shook the air like beats of music's heart. 

Higher and higher still. 
Farther and farther flowed the fluent sound, 

Until like morning light. 
It spread and filled the broad horizon's bound. 



76 TJie Lark's Song. 

Then from a snowy cloud 
Shaped as an angel leaning from the blue, 

And luminous, as if 
Heaven's glory shone in rift it wandered through, 

There poured such wondrous tone 
Such pure triumphant resonance of glee, 

As if the seraph sung 
Some blissful strain of hallowed symphony ; 

Then sudden ceased, and left 
A palpitating silence on the sky. 

And all the welkin throbbed 
With rippling pulses of dumb ecstasy. 

We knew ourselves again. 
Saw quivers running through the yellow wheat. 

Heard leaves of listening trees 
Through rapturous quiet rustling sighs repeat. 

And watched tiie changing cloud 
Pass out of sight, grown strange, and still, and dark. 

While life had gained and lost ; 
And some one softly said, "It was the Lark !" 

The Lark ! and yet the Lark, 
This incarnation of the voice divine, 

But filled my yearning dreams 
With lovely hints, as grapes may give of wine, 



The Lark's Song. TJ 

Of something still beyond, 
Some marvelous music of immortal birth, 

That, having heard the Lark, 
I wait for, knowing 'twill not be of earth ! 



78 An Old Tmie Singer. 



AN OLD TIME SINGER. 

Ah, my mind looks back at thee, 

Poet of an older day, 
Whose choice, dainty madrigals 

Love's own heart will thrill alway. 

Goodly wert tliou in brave dress, 
Booted, and with sword at side, 

Laces rich at breast and Vv^rist 
Tasselled collar fine and wide, 

Velvet coat of gayest hue. 

Kerchief fit for modish dame — 

Thus all blades of thine own time 
Were bedight this gorgeous same. 

On thy shoulders careless fell 
Heavy wealth of curling hair. 

And thine attitude was grace. 
Easy, simple, debonnaire. 

While thine eyes half-merry, sad. 
Looked on wine when it was red, 

As thy jest o'er flowing bowl 
Lustre on its sparkle shed ; 

Or thy mellow, virile voice 

Rang out measures clear and stron; 



All Old Time Singer. 79 

Stirring echoes tender, true, 

'Neath all lightness lingering long. 

Naught of these placed thee apart — 

Many men have revelled, sung, 
Other countless cavaliers 

In such wise their lives have flung ; — 

But around thee, poet born, 

Was there no felt atmosphere 
That to comrades marked thee lone, 

Higher set thee than their cheer? 

Was there sense in dimmer minds 

Linked in common mortal race, 
With thee sharing wit and wine, 

Of a nobler, finer grace ? 

Inner being, outward man — 

Ah, what difference in show — 
Gentle gallant, poet rare. 

Could they both in one guise know ? 

But those years, and thou, art gone — 

Yet these lyric words of thine 
Vision of thy presence brings 

Vanished from the world long syne ; 

And the sc-ul was really thee 

Over centuries can reach 
Touching ours to kinship sweet 

By song's subtle spirit speech. 



8o A Song at the Feast. 



A SONG AT THE FEAST. 

The feast was rich, the table gleamed 

With cates and dainties rare 
And flowers wreathing all about 

Rainbowed the fragrant air ; 

While crystal flagons sparkling flashed 

With golden, ruddy wine, 
Like amber, ruby gems that held 

Imprisoned pure sunshine ; 

The guests were gay, the laughter light ; 

Well knew the happy host 
With blithesome ease and witty grace 

To draw forth jest and toast ; 

And sweetest music flowing soft 

Pulsed through the pause of speech, 

Scarce noticed, yet to issues fine 
Heart-touching mirth in each ; 

Then, as convivial, wild strain 
Was changed to higher mood, 

The wary host a singer called 
Who in the background stood ; 

** A song," he cried, " to float our souls 
Our lower selves above ! 



A Song at the Feast. 8i 

We drink to Bacchus, god of wine, 
To Venus, sing, of Love !" 

Then mellow, tender, through the hall 

Swelled luscious, melting tone, 
So stirring with the thrills of Love 

All memories felt their own. 

Yet some strange pathos in the voice 

Tiirough this chord deeper smote 
Upon the secret silences 

Made each from each remote. 

One in his brimming goblet gazed 

As though to keep down tears ; 
One stared upon the empty wall 

As if it visioned fears. 

Bui none looked in another's face 

To see the wine flush fade, 
And hands that grasped the bubbling cup 

In stillness by it stayed, 

Till sudden ceased the spelling notes, 

When all their beakers drained 
To stifle back the rising sigh 

Of Nature overstrained ; 

But none unto the other said. 

With free returning breath, 
That though the song had told of Love, 

It brought the thought of Death. 



82 Art, 



ART. 



All Art is joy — conception is the glow 

Of pure creative bliss when fancy draws 
From chaoc depths by form — evolving laws 

Ideal fashioned to existing show ; 

And when the finished work is all the earth's, 
A part of being as a hill or tree, 
None marvel more at 'wildering mystery 

Of Spirit moulds projecting mundane births, 

Than sculptor who beholds his statue breathe 

Clear human from the marble's senseless white, 
Or painter, as his picture yields to sight 

The latent meaning Nature's scenes enwreathe, 

Or Poet, when elusive suited word 

Has grasped the subtle thought, a scripture heard. 



But deem not ye who stand with reverent hearts 
Before the glories genius has wrought, 
That high achievement to true artist brought 

Uplifting pride that from self-sources starts. 

Nay — only for the while it was undone 
The thing of beauty was his very own ; 
Once forth from him 'tis his no more alone. 



ArL 83 

Owned by all Love, inspired worth world won, 

Transcending consciousness by grace that came 
From his ebbed mortal limits, whilom swayed 
By power which humbles in its witness made 

For immortality that consumes his fame, 

Soul-grateful that a chosen life-breath he 

Of Master-Maker for the " Let there be." 



To One whom Nature has begot for Art, 

Though thorns bestrew his dark and weary road. 
Though bends his life 'neath pains' unsparing load, 
Thougli fame's success cheers not his straining heart, 
If some rare tempting chance should offer make 
To give for genius in vast exchange 
All gainful gifts that in earth's values range, 
Wealth, power, love, his soul could ne'er forsake 
The God within him. Thougli the waiting cross 
Through anguish of Gethsemane should loom, 
Hosannas still should lead him to his doom, 
These other treasures counting only dross — 
'' Art crowns," he cries, " Art is exhaustless mine ! 
Art is pure Love for beauty's truth divine !" 



84 A Legeiid of the Talnmd. 



A LEGEND OF THE TALMUD. 

King David, the singer, Nature's bard 
Sang to his harp at the close of day 

A stirring song, and the poets' fire 

Burned and glowed in the wonderful lay. 

His soul was thrilled by his own sweet notes, 
Borne on them still as on sweeping wing; 

But human thought may not soar too high — 
Pride filled the heart of the holy king. 

And down from the starry vault of heaven. 

Out of effulgence of unseen throne. 
Away from voices of seraph hosts, 

Dropped dreams of glory up on his own. 

"Among all thy creatures. Lord," he cried, 
" Dwelling beyond or beneath the sky, 
Hast one who utters in praise to Thee 
Such grand, melodious psalms as I ?" 

No answer came on the evening breeze, 

Strange stillness seized on the rippling air ; 

Through open window a locust flew 
To his mantle's hem and settled there. 

Its tones rang clear through the silent room, 
Mates joined it as an echoing choir ; 

A nightingale's sudden music shook 
Shadows with sound like a hidden lyre. 



A Legend of the Talmud. 85 

The ear of the King was opened then ; 

Uprose a myriad changing strains ; 
All Nature's harmonies mingling swelled 

Ecstatic rythms of glad refrains. 

He heard the tinklings of many brooks, 
Rustlings of woods, and pulsings of life, 

The varied range of the wind's great chords, 
And roll of the sea with mystery rife ; 

And symphonies of shining spheres, 

Stars that sung in their measureless height, 

And paens of white-robed angel bands 

Throbbing through courts of celestial light. 

Then wisdom entered the minstrel's mind ; 

Hearing yet the locust's chirping tone, 
His humbled spirit repentant deemed 

That the insects' song excelled his own. 

He owned the lesson divinely taught ; 

Over his harp bowed his head and heart; 
In ceaseless and universal hymn 

Taking lowly then his simple part ; 

All creatures of His, praise ye the Lord ! 

Praise Him in all His marvellous ways ! 
Thou, likewise, oh my innermost soul, 

Humbly join in thy Maker's praise ! 



86 Prayings 



PRAYING. 

Ill temple of myself I pray my prayer, 

And let it lie 
Like planted seed to bear me precious fruit 

Of due reply. 

Not as I wish, perhaps, will be fulfilled 

My urgent need, 
And not in pathways where I fain would tread 

Will God's hand lead. 

Yet somewhere out of darkness I shall turn 

Into the Light, 
And after groping through the dim obscure 
Rejoice in sight ; 

And looking back upon the troubled course 

Thorny and long. 
Where oft my weary soul with struggling faint 

Beheld but wrong. 

At last in calmness of a great peace won 

Shall clearly see 
Where blood-stained foot-prints mark the onward steps 

Towards sweet To Be ; 

And all the wounds, the pain, the blinding tears. 
As jewels shine, 



Praying. 87 

While groanings in the night like echoes swell 
Of strain divine ! 

For some day I may feel God's way is best 

Howe'er I go ; 
And though His word be hard to understand 

I yet shall know ! 

And so although amid my strife I pray, 

'Tis not because 
I hope to 'scape the dealings of His grace, 

Or change His laws ; 

But 'tis that when all mortal joys seem far, 

And earth is drear, 
My soul in yearning soars beyond the flesh, 

And feels Him near ; 

And having only human words to speak 

In limits bound, 
I utter cries for help, while spirit depths 

Find no true sound; 

For Wisdom's Infinite and Present Love 

Brood o'er my fate ; 
So lying low upon His sheltering arm 

I learn to wail ! 



Two. 



TWO. 

Together, each day by day, 

In all the show of life ; 
Together before the world 
A wedded man and wife ; 
Together in duty, in wealth, in name. 
Together in outside weal and shame ; 
Linked by the church and fettered by fate, 
Together for all their earthly state ! 

Far apart as star from star, 
As frozen pole from pole ; 
Far apart in tastes and hopes, 
In sympathy of soul ! 
Far, far apart in all inward needs, 
Far, far apart in dreams and deeds ; 
Far, far apart when seeming anear, 
And farthest apart e'en when most dear ! 

One by the fiat of oath. 

Two by God's awful will ; 
One by the strong marriage tie. 
Yet two by Nature still ! 
One to suffer, to chnfe, and to wait ! 
Two in their spirits never to mate ! 
One by the voice and law of men ! 
Two that death will sunder in twain ! 



Ad Alitor a. ^9 



AD ALTIORA. 

" Oh, tirra lirra !" sang a youth, 

While " tra la 1" warbled maiden, 
And " Buzz, buzz," breathed the busy bee 

With Summer honey laden ; 
When o'er them burst a carol clear 

Of small bird homeward winging ; 
Youth, maid, and even busy bee 

Paused all to list his singing. 

Sweet thrilling through the sunny air, 

The music seemed aspiring 
To mingle with angelic songs 

And woke a vague desiring ; 
" Oh, world beyond !" exclaimed the youth ; 

« Oh, happy nest !" sighed maiden ; 
"Oh, ecstacy of idle joy !" 

Buzzed bee with treasure laden. 



90 Glory Verstis Labor. 



GLORY VERSUS LABOR. 

Venus, to Vulcan wedded, looks on Mars, 

And quite forgets her duty to her lord, 
Who, grimed with dust, at his black anvil works, 

While the proud war-god sheathes his glittering sword, 
And clad in panoply of mailed array. 

With victor laurels round his helmet twined, 
Lingers at Beauty's side, nor heeds the din 

Of bloody fields borne on the warning wind ; 
In idle chariot his battle-steeds. 

Terror and Flight, await his guiding skill. 
While the fair goddess, dazzled, tender, kind, 

The hero holds a willing captive still ! 
Thus martial show from homely Toil wins Love, 

Though Vulcan forges thunderbolts for Jove ! 



Diana of Poictiers. * 91 



DIANA OF POICTIERS. 

" The conqueror of him who conquers all !" 

So graved tlie Lyonnaise in loving leal 
Upon Diana's medal ; and the king 

In his own slavery only pride could feel 
When gazing on the witching face that won 

Admiring tribute of a peoples' zeal ; 
For love ruled him indeed who ruled the land ; 

And years no lustre from her grace could steal 
Whom poets praised, and at whose worshipped feet 

Where bowed a crown, the world was glad to kneel 
In coronation of a throneless queen ! 

But ah ! how Time with love and lives doth deal ! 
He conquered all ! She conquered him ! What now 
Is Henry's passion, Poictiers* peerless brow ? 



92 Patie7ice. 



PATIENCE. 

An English poet of the olden days 

Wrote " Patience is the soul of peace," and I, 
Almost three centuries apart from him 

And fretted sad with cares, glanced careless eye 
Over the page, and caught this wisdom's word, 

That, as a ripple striking on the shore 
Made by a stone chance-thrown on Times' deep wave, 

Touched my great need, and freshened life once more. 
'Twas like a staff put in a blind man's hand 

To lead through tortuous ways to pastures still ; 
Or seed, that taking root in battle soil. 

Springs up, with grain the blood-stained field to fill ! 
Oh, human poet-soul ! dost thou now know 

How far, how long, inspired eciioes go "i 



Barye. 93 



BARYE. 

With clearest thought, keen sight, and pliant hands 
He caught the meaning of those lower lives 
Where Being ever onward, upward strives 

Till in the human it transcendant stands. 

The grace and beauty of their strength he saw, 
Thrilled at the pathos of their limits straight. 
And found within their dumb, unhonored state 

The mighty impress of impelling Law. 

World-welcome to old Truth made new is aye 
The cross or fagot, e'en though borne unseen ; 
But unto this rare soul must power have been, 

Mid lone despite of Fame, joy ever high. 

Since in himself through Genius he could know 

Life-range from creature sense unto creating glow ! 



IN LANDS APART. i 

i 



Off the Irish Coast. 97 



OFF THE IRISH COAST. 

Land, land at last ! White sea-gulls poised 

Upon their outspread wings, 
Whose floating grace to weary ships 

Sweet shoreward tidings brings, 
Swift dip upon the crested waves 

Their orange feet in foam, 
And with faint cries give welcome glad 

To spirits nearing home. 

Through veiling mists the shadowy hills 

Loom cloud-like o'er the sea ; 
We speed ; the barren headlands brown 

Slope sunlit on the lee ! 
On, on, and on ; the longing heart 

An added witchery yields, 
For like a draught to those athirst, 

There shine the soft green fields ! 

Then dancing on the sparkling deep. 

Frail skiffs speed from the shores, 
And sentinel on threatening rock 

The lonely lighthouse soars ! 
On, on and on ! The harbor won, 

The anchor drops at last ! 
Safe in the haven of the land. 

The ocean dream is past ! 



98 hi the Coliseum. 



IN THE COLISEUM. 

Go stand within the Coliseum walls, 

And 'mid the sunny stillness call again 

The Roman multitudes of other days 

Back to their cruel lives athirst for blood, 

And place them there in all their ancient state, 

Row upon row of fierce expectant eyes, 

A palpitiating mass of eager zest ; 

Behold the Emperor in his purple robes, 

Who deemed himself a god, set in their midst ; 

And in the wide arena, war-worn men 

Grouped, sword in hand, to fight unto the death ; 

Then, in that moment's quiet, when the hush 

Of breathless listening quells the restless crowd. 

That moment's calm, when those about to die 

Salute the Caesar, think, if in such time 

Once long ago there could have sudden flashed 

On that great audience a vision clear 

Of what their amphitheatre is now, 

A silent ruin overgrown with weeds, 

One keen and instant sense of mortal fate. 

The transientness of building, empire, man, 

Would not an awful solemn stillness then 

Have stolen o'er them such as reigns within 

The shattered Circus of their sports to-day ? 

And moving slowly, softly, one by one, 



Til the Coliseum. 99 

Would they have gone out, fear-struck to their souls ? 

Or would the whole assembly, smote at once 

With this same realizing, madly rise 

In all their lusty health, and with one shout 

Of terror-clinched conviction echo there 

The Gladiator's words, " About to die — 

Oh, Caesar, we salute thee — we — who die !" 



lOo The Gothic Kings, 

THE GOTHIC KINGS. 

FOUR STATUES ON THE PINCIAN HILL, ROME. 

Ancient captives we, 
Bound eternally ; 
With weary hands enchained, 
And faces bowed and pained, 
While eras dawned and waned 
We thus have watched the mightiness of Rome ! 

Never to be free ! 

Wither could we flee 
To reach some blessed land 
Unheld by conquering band, 
Ungrasped by outstretched hand 
Of an insatiate and world-possessing Rome ! 

Images of stone, 

Mournful and alone. 
Amid the bright To-Day, 
Signs of things past away, 
We symbolize the sway 
Of unrelenting and resistless olden Rome ! 

Types of something more : 
In those days of yore 



The Gothic Ki7igs. loi 

Some subtly thinking Greek 
Beholding strength grow weak, 
Made deathless marble speak 
Of Freedom's yearning strife against enslaving Rome ! 

For as sculptor wrought 

Farther reaching thought 
Saw happy coming hour 
When e'en earth's conquering power 
No more could darkly lower ; 
For death the prisoners freed e'en of law-girt Rome ! 

Musing o'er the clay, 

" Lo," he said, " alway, 
O Captives, ye shall stand 
Personifying band, 
In emblematic land. 
Of bondage wider than the thralldom of great Rome I 

" Types of awful Fate, 
Common human state, 
Whose chains of circumstance 
Forbid the soul's advance 
Towards fetterless expanse 
Of liberty beyond our stern condition's Rome ! 

"Endless spirit-strife 
Throughout motal life 



I02 The Gothic Kin^s. 



i>^ 



Of effort to prevail 
'Gainst destiny's entail 
Of being finite, frail, 
Controlled and crushed by an inexorable Rome ! 

" As the ages roll 
From man's unseen soul 
Shall evermore arise 
The secret anguish cries 
Of doubt that never dies. 
Humanity's protest against ordaining Rome ! 

*' Questioning of death 
' If with end of breath 
The bonds of time and place, 
Of Nature and of race, 
Of heritage's trace 
Shall fall forever off from slaves of this earth's Rome ?' " 

Thousands come and go 
Our sad gaze below, 
But few the seeing eyes 
That in our captive guise 
Know hidden meaning lies 
Of Fate-environed life midst universal Rome ! 



A^ the Ball at Lojig Bra7ich. 103 



AT THE BALL AT LONG BRANCH. 

Wildly swells the witching music, 

Throbbing through the summer night 
Rising, falling, fevering, maddening, 

Mid the perfumed warmth and light ; 
Waltz delirious, delicious, 

Crashing, flowing soft as sigh, 
Stirring, whirling human pulses 

In voluptuous harmony. 

Still forever mid the pauses 

Of the gay dance measure's sound, 
Sweeps there up a hollow moaning 

As for something never found ; 
Beating through the ravished senses, 

With its solemn monotone. 
Till the spirit that is in us 

Stands among the throng alone. 

Rolls and rolls its heavy echo 

Through the thrills of vague desire. 
Till to dreamy yearning changes 

All the glow of mounting fire ; 
Till the show as shadowy glitter, 

Dims upon the vacant sight ; 
Only phantoms float around us, 

And a mist comes o'er the light ; 



I04 Ai tJie Ball at Long Branch. 

And a feeling of the far-off 

Fills the separate, saddened soul, 
An outstretching towards the shoreless, 

Surging with tlie ocean's roll ; 
For as sounds through trancing music 

The deep voice of boundless sea. 
Dwells amid life's finite falseness 

Awful, true eternity. 



Niaga7'a. 105 



NIAGARA. 

NIAGARA : A PSALM. 

It makes of the whole earth a temple, 

Is the altar and Holy Place there ; 
God's presence, broods over its waters, 

Wings of cherubim gleam through its veil ; 
The Word from the Voice of Almighty 

Midst the tumult of motion is heard ; 
The Lord reigns in glory forever 

On its grandeur by day and by night ! 

For cycles the wilderness trembled 

As the white foaming torrents swept through ; 
For ages the solitudes listened 

To the thunderous leap o'er the brink ; 
For eras uncounted wild surges 

Sprang sunlit in snowy spray-founts ; 
The awful floods swirled into whirlpools ; 

Long ere Nature knew Man in the world ! 

But stars in their courses looked downward, 
Sun and moon shed their silver and gold, 

The bow spanned the space with its brightness, 
And the wind-wreathing waves hurried on ; 



io6 Niaga7'a. 

Still Power majestic, resistless, 

And the desperate impulse of Force 

Kept then 'mid the tumult and terror 
The same calm underlying as now ! 

For lo ! from the Lord God Jehovah 

Had gone forth the great word to the deeps. 
*' Thus far thou shall go, and no farther !" 

They praise Him in their limits and might ! 
And angels came down from the heavens 

Ere humanity chorussed their hymn, 
In the shrine of these floods overfalling 

To adore 'mid the incense of mist ! 

What bliss in the sense of creation, 

And what joy must Omnipotence know 
To bring forth from chaos such beauty, 

To conceive out of nothingness, this ! 
In ecstasy silent of worship 

We reflect but the exquisite thrill 
Of earth at this birth from her bosom 

When the Maker belield " it was good !" 

The tranquil wide river in ripples 

Flows in peace on its long quiet way, 
Then swift into fierce currents rushing 

Plunges over the precipice steep ; 
With strength, and with grace, and with glory 

Falls and dies in the troubled abyss ; 
Dies : — then like a spirit ascending 

In sun-illumed mist soars above ! 



Niagara. 107 

The soul of man bows down before thee, 

O Niagara, for upon thee 
He gains of the Infinite glimpses, 

And beholds the Eternities rest ! 
Amid all his fear and his wonder, 

Lifts his heart in unspeakable praise, 
For even in turbulence headlong 

There is hidden invincible Law ! 

Lord God of the cataracts, rapids, 

O Lord God of the fountains and spray ! 

Thy presence is over the waters ! 

And Thy will guides the waves on their way ! 



io8 Niagara: The Legend, 



NIAGARA : THE LEGEND. 

The awe in the heart of the red men 

As they gazed on the heights and the depths 
As they looked on the. falling waters, 

On the solemn mists purple and gold, 
Awakened the yearning to render 

Some rare tribute, some treasure of love, 
As sacrifice laid on an altar 

Of the spirit who dwells in the flood ! 

Tliey gave of their purest and dearest, 

The young maiden most fair of the tribes ; 
They heaped the white boat with bright flowers, 

And in worship knelt down on the shores 
As singing her death song of triumph 

She swept out o'er the terrible cliff, — 
Then luminous spray and the rainbows 

In the secret place folded her in ! 

For years Niagara's requiem 

Swelled anew o'er this offering of grace -, 
It troubled the heart of the waters 

With the weight of a gift unreturned. 
The land brought its best and its sweetest. 

As proud subjects press gems on a king ; 
What royal bestowal befitting 

Should the current yield back to the land ? 



Niagara: The Legend. 109 

It nourished and ripened a nature 

Upon lofty thoughts breathed by its foam, 
Baptized with the strength of its splendor 

A soul that it reared to its height ; 
And when in the time of her trial 

The sad country was groaning with pain, 
Niagara gave her a hero 

The great waters had made for the land ! 



no Niagara: A Memory. 



NIAGARA: A MEMORY.* 

War's tocsin liad sounded and echoed— 

There were terror, and triumph, and tears I 
The North had collected her legions — 

Fields were wet with an awful red dew ! 
Then come up the men of his region, 

" Lead us forth ! we will follow till death !" — 
Ah ! home and the sweet wife were precious ! — 
"We will march under no other chief !" 

Through cry of the men of his region 

Rose the fateful deep sound of the Falls ! — 
From love and from peace and from household 

He went out to the turmoil of blood ; 
Went out where the duty was strongest, 

With the heat of the cause in his heart ; 
Went out to the peril and patience 

Of Mortality waiting on Fame ! 

At last came the doom and the moment 

When the starry Flag dro'oped on its staff; 

When bravest sank back from the slaughter, 
From the fiery hell of the strife ! 

* Of Colonel Porter, who was killed in the early part of the 
Civil War while leading a forlorn hope. 



Niagara : A Memory. 1 1 1 

No hope for the gallantest venture, 
And no chance save for honor and death ! — 

Then heading the host of Niagara 
Set the chieftain his front to the foe ! 

Nor faltered the men of his region — 

Could they shrink from the leader they chose ? — 
They followed with destiny loyal 

Gazing straight in Eternity's gulf ! 
For power resistless compelled them 

In firm tread that marched on to the end ; 
As over the face of their chieftain 

Shone the light of a strange, solemn smile ! 

Light borne from the far-away waters, 

Of the calm underlying the rush ! — 
He thought of the tranquil bright river 

In untroubled course sweeping along. 
Then dashed into whirlpools and tumults 

Until making one terrible leap 
It plunged o'er the precipice fearful, 

And died down in the foaming abyss! 

He smiled then with a memory tender, 

For before him arose from the depths, 
Like spirit ascending to heaven. 

The illumined ethereal spray ! 
They looked, the brave men of his region. 

On that smile as they marched unto death, 



112 Niagara : A Memory. 

And thought of Niagara's grandeur 
And the bow on the sunlighted mist ! 

Lord God of the whirlwind and torrent ! 

O Lord God of the battle and strife ! 
Thou upliftest Thy waters to heaven, 

And Thou callest Thy martyrs to Thee ! 



The Bahamas. 113 



THE BAHAMAS. 

Over the trackless, distant waste 

Columbus gravely, slowly sailed ; 
Heart-lone, time-worn, on tardy ship 

His sleepless eyes the bright land hailed ; 
What echo keeps that sounding sea 

Still rolling to the island shore 
Of glad Te Deum 'neath the cross 

That claimed the New World won of yore ? 

Haughty and brave, from far-off Spain, 

By fancy steered to sunn}' coast 
To seek *mid palms sweet Fount of Youth, 

Famed Ponce de Leon led his host ; 
Never a trace holds tinted waves 

Sparkling beyond the island shore 
Of gallant dreamer's ardent quest 

So long ago death-gained and o'er. 

Her worthies sturdy England sent 

To seize her share of storied land, 
Oueen-sped from whitened cliffs to seas 

That purpled to the golden sand ; 
What signs of Raleigh's brilliant aim 

Are wafted to the island shore ? 
Of Drake's adventures on the foam 

That cresting shines, then is no more? 



114 ^^^^ Bahamas. 

Black as their lives the Pirate's flag 

Darkened the limpid, azure deep, 
Dread harbinger of blood-stained greed 

Fierce as the hurricane's wild sweep ; 
What shadow marks the gentle swell 

That softly curves on island shore 
Of lawless passion, evil deeds, 

Or gales that sank with ebbing roar? 

Out of beleaguered, war-closed ports 

Defiant vessels slipped away, 
And fleet with fear on ocean free, 

Secure in Southern waters lay ; 
What murmurs of a nation's strife 

Now ripple to the island shore? 
What thunders of old battles crash 

On billowy calm of storm-wrath o'er? 

Now peaceful barks of commerce ride 

From many lands in harbor still ; 
And to and fro the white sails glide 

That balmy breezes safely fill ; 
But when To-Morrow's tide has swept 

The Future to the island shore, 
What of To-Day shall seaward bide 

More than the Past has graved before ? 

The sea rolls on the same, the same, 
Majestic, solemn, lone and great ; 



The Bahamas. 1 1 5 

Ages and Ages still it rolls 

Unchanged, untouched by human fate ! 
But as his memories engulphed 

By waves around the island shore, 
Man, o'er Eternity's vast space 

Must pass, like ships forgot of yore ! 



ii6 The Outlook. 



THE OUTLOOK. 

The ships are anchored in the bay 

The weary ships with haven won ; 
Encompassed by the purple waves 

Beneath the brilliant Tropic sun ; 
At last upon the Summer sea, 

Untossed, at rest, they quiet lie ; 
In idle ease, scarce darkened o'er 

By fleecy clouds in azure sky. 

Far off upon th' horizon's verge 

A white-sailed sloop speeds swift from sight, 
Like some glad bird whose outspread wings 

Cleave straight into the realms of light ; 
It leaves behind the fair green isle, 

The waters sparkling on the reef, 
To seek a shore, o'er ocean gray, 

Where winter withers bud and leaf. 

Like those moored vessels worn with storms, 

Now sheltered safe in harbor calm. 
We too repose through glowing days 

Beneath the shadow of the palm ; 
But ah ! our thoughts are like the bark 

That sweeps across the rounding main ; 
Love wafted from bright, softer clime, 

To our own land of cold and rain. 



The Lilies of Prosperity. 1 1 7 



THE LILIES OF PROSPERITY.* 

White shining in the tropic sun, 

Uplifting from the clustered green 
The snowy, slender leaves that bear 
Their gold-rayed chalices atween — 

Oh, Earth, in all thy places choice 

Dost thou, in beauty's verity, 
Hold grace and pureness sweeter than 
The Lilies of Prosperity ? 

Long brightening o'er the weedy wilds 

Of lone, forsaken garden beds 
From still, deserted house behind 

They swayed their tender, stainless heads, 

For whispering winds the sadness breathed 

Of change as human verity 
'Twixt perfect hills and palm-fringed sea 
To Lilies of Prosperity ! 

Of yore adown those lofty steps, 

And round about those bordered ways, 

Fair vanished women musing walked 
'Mid flower stars of other days — 

* " Prosperity " is the name of an estate in St. Croix, Danish 
West Indies. 



ii8 The Lilies of Prosperity. 

White clad were they in Summer land? 

White souled In gentle verity, 
Thine island sisters of the Past, 

Oh, Lilies of Prosperity ? 

Now pearly cups yield greeting too 

For stranger on your sunny shore, 
Like finger-touches petals light 

Thrill 'gainst a woman's robe once more! 
And 'neath the Southern sunset sky, 

Celestial colors' verity, 
Soft pleading melodies arise 
From Lilies of Prosperity ! 

"Ah, life within the empty home. 

And speech amid the silences. 
Love-thoughts among the solitudes, 
A welcome presence brings to bless ; 

Then here in soothing Lethe airs, 

Where peace is world-sought verity, 
In calm of quiet hours stay 
With Lilies of Prosperity !'" 

Oh, Lilies, Lilies, fair to see. 

Or soon, or late, is death-chance sure, 
And o'er wide seas the winged ships go, 
What mortal state shall e'er endure ? 

But grave or wave for living heart, 

In Nature's steadfast verity, 
'Mid fadeless green will still bloom on 
The Lilies of Prosperity. 



A Tropic Noon. 119 



A TROPIC NOON. 

Were I a child-eyed Greek of Time yet young 
Out-gazing on this shining sea and sky, 
Where sheet of diamond sparkles flashing lie 

By dazzling arch of lustrous deeps o'erhung, 

I should behold the vision poets sung, 
Not needing fancy sight to verify, 
Of goddess floating there to glorify 

Still more the splendors noon around her flung — 

And as her rosy shell should bear her o'er 
Effulgent swell, the thrilled, ecstatic air, 
Engoldened with the sheen of flowing hair 

Light-veiling gleams of star-white shape from shore, 

Should to adoring soul breathe truth unworn 
That Venus from the sky and sea was born ! 



I20 A Tropic Sunset. 



A TROPIC SUNSET. 

Majestic sinks day's globe of blinding fire 
Behind the dark horizon line of sea, 
Whose azure circling sweeping vast and free 
Upholds the cloud-chain that like hills aspire 
Between its blue and separate far sapphire 
Still solemn in the golden radiancy, 
Till blending tints, like rainbow paling, flee, 
As upward stream from flame of dying pyre. 
Mist-white and spectral, lengthening, fan-spread rays 
To arching deeps of peace, where pallid fades, 
'Mid melting violets' most tender shades, 
A phantom spheric moon in waning grays 
Beneath the silvery crescent-hung below 
The one, first star of amber Afterglow. 



''Pan Sleeps r 121 



"PAN SLEEPS." 

Goethe's remark to eckerman in a garden at sunset. 
Scene : West Indies. 

In moveless silence broods the air 
Dream-seethed in amber afterglow ; 

The sculptured shadows of still clouds 
Lie dusk on heaveless sea below ; 

Naught stirs between abysmal deeps ; 
Pan sleeps. 

The waving fields whose purple plumes 
The winds have fluttered through the day, 

Are spelled into a breathless calm, 
That, after tossing, breezy play, 

Each fringe of upright feather steeps ; 
Pan sleeps. 

The mist-white rays slant broadening up 

From far horizon sunset dyed 
'Gainst sky of violet lost in blue 

Where color in its temple wide 
The sacredness of stillness keeps ; 
Pan sleeps. 

The quiet of the graceful slopes 
Has settled to a holy hush 



122 ''Pan Sleeps!' 

Where on their greenness rosy rests 

The glory of a lingering flush 
As light's last wing-poise downward sweeps ; 
Pan sleeps. 

Day's throbbings cease in pause serene ; 

World's fever-thrills no more excite ; 
Life-sense is in abeyance held ; 

On threshold of approaching night 
Where darkness all their fruitage reaps ; 
Pan sleeps. 

The god-horned brow has touched the ground ; 

Through victory's shell no loud voice blows ; 
Catch pointed ears no outer sound ; 

From hand-dropped reed no music flows ; 
The satyr-hoof no longer leaps ; 
Pan sleeps. 

Soul, havened in Time's solitude, 

Enwrapt in Memory's afterglow. 
Glad be in wisdom's lingering light 

That 'neath the peace when day is low 
Which all thy waiting being steeps, 
Pan sleeps. 



FLOWERS 



OF 



A TROPIC ISLAND. 



Flowers of a Tropic Island. 125 



SNOWDROPS. 

What time the violets in Northern fields 

'Mid screening grass send tell-tale fragrance up, 
And gemmed with dew the golden crocus cup 

Sways in the showery breeze that quickening yields 

E'en to the tender green of shadowy wealds 

That mong the frost-brown moss of bosky nooks, 
By rippling music of clear, sunless brooks. 

The trailing beauty of Arbutus shields ; 

In emerald islands of the Southern Sea 

The fragile snowdrop lifts its stainless flower 
In lambent radiance of noontide hour, 

By wind-swept roadsides and on open lea ; 

And made akin in decking dawning Spring 

All Nature's blooms her subtle yearnings bring. 



126 Flotucrs of a Tropic Island. 



2 

OLEANDERS. 

Choice, stately blossom of all Southern climes, 
That sweetens sunny air with spicy scent 
From grouped coronas of rich blushes blent, 

Here thou art companied with yellow limes, 

And all the affluence of fruitage times, 
The granadilla's gold, the branches bent 
With orange ripeness, the pomegranates rent 

By ruddy pulp, 'mid breeze-stirred, leafy chimes ; 

Yet thou dost brighten too dry, dusty ways 
Of storied Italy, and in lone piles 

Of silent ruins, through their saddening grays 
Thy roseate grace crowns fallen peristyles, 

As blithesome on the grave of ancient Rome 

As 'mid the fecund life of island home. 



Flowers of a Tropic Island. 127 



3 
FRANGIPANI. 

All leafless in the stripping winter wind 

Unlovely stands the rough and barren tree ; 

No hint prophetic of grace yet to be 
In bareness hid could alien vision find ; 
When lo ! the springtide rains this dearth unbind 

Till empty boughs bud out in greenery, 

And soon far floats the ripened fragrancy 
Of rosy blossoms clustering sun-steeped rind. 
Thus may the human heart, kept hard and cold 

By adverse poverty's bleak, blasting powers. 
Burst into bloom undeemed it could unfold 

'Neath summer-softening of Fortune's showers, 
And Nature's generous sweetness be unrolled 

In splendor of prosperity's fair flowers. 



128 Flowers of a Tropic Island. 



4 
LAURESTINA. 

In years agone within a garden old 

Of distant city home, long vanished both, 
Was reared a Laurestina's tender growth, 

Exotic in a land of Northern cold ; 

And on my memory as a little child 

The fragile beauty of its rose-hued flowers 
Was stamped forever, linked with gleeful hours 

And faces dear that on my fresh life smiled ; 

Now aging pain has led me to far shore, 

With graves of those beloved beyond the sea, 
And in a Tropic garden wild and free 

I look on Laurestina bloom once more 

A child again, glad with new truth there sprung, 

That spite of Time the Soul is always young. 



Flowers of a Tropic Island. 129 



5 

AMARYLLIS. 

When roamed the Indian o'er wooded hills 

And forests dense of verdant Carib isle ; 
He saw 'mid tangled brush, by trickling rills, 

Twinned scarlet lilies at his footsteps smile ; 
And when alternate over ocean's waste 

Old Europe's peoples sought a far exile. 
These floral jewels with their splendor graced 

The gardens that could solitude beguile. 
On upright stem from spreading spathes of green 

Still shall the brilliant Amaryllis shine 
In days to come by eyes of mine unseen ; 

Yet Joy of Beauty with its mood divine 
But gladdens me to know though I be gone 

That Nature's loveliness lasts ever on. 



130 Flowei's of a Tropic Island. 



POINSIANA. 

Outstretched and gaunt upon the chxling air 

The long limbs moveless lie ; stiff, stark, 'mid all 

The waving rustlings of the landscape fair, 

Or when their rattling pods from dryness fall ; 

A very Death in Life ; no vernal sign 
Betokens to the teeming world about 
That at appointed time will bourgeon out 

A sudden glory of rich, superfine, 

And vivid color clothing o'er the tree 

With carmine flowers scintillant with gold, 

To startle vision that this lethargy 
Such body spiritual could enfold ; 

God's typic word of hidden Life in Death, 

When fame forgets, and stirs no more Earth's breath. 



RONDEAUS. 



Rondeaus. 133 



OUR STARRY FLAG. 

Our starry flag — a stirring sight 
When floating out its red and white 

To greet and cheer in foreign air ; 

We hold it ne'er so dear and fair. 
So full of meaning and of might 
As when beside its colors bright 
No other ensigns ever quite 

In grace or power can compare 

With starry flag ! 

Its proud outwaving seems aware 
Of all the star-states shining there 

To shed abroad their freedom's light ! 

Oh, Native Land, at utmost height 
Keep ever with a noble care 

Our starry flag ! 



T34 Ro7ideaus. 



A ROSE-LEAF SHELL. 

A rose-leaf shell ; as petal light 

Just fallen from a flower bright 

Upon the golden tropic strand, 
Yet cast upon the shining sand 

By world-long swell of ocean's might, 

Its beauty meets our wondering sight 

With mystery of the sea bedight, 

And Nature's secrets awe command 
In rose-leaf shell. 

In sunless deeps of color's night 
Whence came this blushing tint of light ? 

How could such fragile grace withstand 
Unfathomed press of surges grand ? 
God's laws His miracles indite 

In rose-leaf shell. 



Rondeaus. 135 



THE POET'S LAND. 

The Poet's land — it has no name ; 

No map its boundaries proclaim ; 

And though his steps rove everywhere, 
He ever breathes his native air, 

And holds 'mid changes feoff the same. 

There ope the temple doors of Fame ; 

There is Love's home of peerless Dame ; 
And Summer smiles forever there 

In Poet's land. 

Its light beams from his soul aflame 
With fancy's glow and beauty's aim ; 
Ambrosia is its common fare, 
And only gods its nectar share, 
For lost Elysium became 

The Poet's land. 



1 36 Roiidemis. 



THE OLD POETS. 

The Poets old — ah, there they shine 
On crowded shelf in bindings fine, 
And yet they truly nowadays 
Get less of reading than of praise ; 
No longer Fashion knows the Nine. 

Old Homer nods ; and none divine 
With Virgil's former mystic line ; 
Immortal Greeks wear faded bays 

As Poets old. 

In Hell unoped must Dante pine, 
While Fairy Queen's a locked up serine ; 
Inglorious, mute, now Milton stays 
Beside the Dramatist's dead plays ; 
But Shakespeare's thumbed as quoting mine 

'Mone; Poets old. 



Rondeaus, 137 



ANN HATHAWAY. 

Her Shakespeare said : " Ann hath a way .'" 
Wlien in youth's halcyon, blinding day 

He thus to Shottery was led ; 

Where graceful Art must sure have shed 
O'er charms mature deceptive ray. 

What way did marriage tie betray, 
That, London-lodged, in love's decay, 

" My Ann shall stay where she was bred !" 
Her Shakespeare said. 

Did she, at night when down he lay, 

Like Mrs. Caudle, say her say. 

That as revenge, when will was read, 
" I leave my wife my second bed ;" 

Was all of his Ann Hathaway 

Her Shakespeare said ? 



138 Rondeatts. 



SHAKESPEARE'S GIRLS. 

Dear Shakespeare's girls — a lovely train 
Immortal born from Poet's brain ; 

What model maid their traits combined 

In crucible of fusing mind 
Till each did separate soul attain ? 

Did his young daughters foreordain 
Marina pure, Miranda fain, 
Perdita modest, Rosalind 

'Mong Shakespeare's girls ? 

Or did his inspiration gain 

From Her the Sonnets scarce explain, 

A Juliet true, a Celia kind, 

Or " Lady Tongue " but Love could bind ? 
Who made sweet Page, French bevy vain, 

Dear Shakespeare's girls ? 



Rondeaus. \ ^n 



SHAKESPEARE'S BOYS. 

Dear Shakespeare's boys — a parlous few 
Too cute for youth, as Gloster knew, 

" So wise, so young, do ne'er live long ;" 
And victims to Ambition's wrong 
His Princely juvenals he slew. 

Each Page but serves as word-play cue ; 
His Roman Puppets tears bedew ; 
No real fun gladdens us among 

Dear Shakespeare's boys. 

Did his own boyhood so imbue 

With sadness, shrewdness, boys he drew ? 

Or did child Hamnet's death make strong 
Impress of likeness on his song ? 
That thus precocious, doomed, askew, 

Are Shakespeare's boys ? 



WOMAN AND MAN. 



DEDICATION 

TO 

WILLIAM T. WALTERS. 

If in a casket filled with jewels rare 

A cluster of the humblest flowers were laid, 

Though costly splendor should their bloom o'ershade 

Some fragrance faint would mark their presence there ; 

And just for sake of one remembered place 
Wherein their simple redolence had birth, 
They might be vested with a moment's worth, 

And win 'mid precious gems slight welcome grace, — 

Thus into temples of the highest Art, 

Where genius has richest treasures brought, 

Are borne these gathered leaves of rythmic thought, 

With Nature's touch alone to reach the heart ; 
And should their value lie in memory of a name, 
Thus linking them to thine will give their surest fame. 



in every character there are unfathomable depths 
which the poet can never analyze, but must only dimly 
guess at, and still more dimly sketch them by the actions 
which they beget." 

Charles Kingsley, 



146 Woman and Man, 



REBECKAH. 

Daughters of Heth — within my tent they stay, 

These, Esau's wives, and scorn me with their eyes ! 
For know I not the thoughts that in them rise 

For Esau's sake when Esau is away ! 

Within their half-wild hearts they mock this son 
Who lingers at my side, in that he brings 
No smell of fields, no blood-stained hands, nor flings 

Low at my feet strength's reeking victim won ; 

Yet what availed they 'gainst my daring skill, 
And his adroitness, from distrust to gain 
The first-born's blessing of dominion's rein, 

To curb the future ? Though I had my will, 
Their looks do taunt me till I weary of my life — ■ 
And Jacob, from my kin, shall only take a wife ! 



Woman and Man. 147 



2 

ESAU. 

My brother comes — Arise, my men of might, 
Go forth with me to honor in the land 
The twin-born, who, at birth, with grasping hand 
Clung to my spurning heel ; Now in my sight 
lie shall have grace — he is my father's son ! 
He comes with great array of gathered store, 
And dreads my vengeance for the deeds of yore, 
For craft-fed fears all noble trusts outrun ! 
He won my mother's love from me ; his art 

My birthright from my starving weakness wiled, 
And with his devilish subtilty beguiled 
My blessing from my blind old father's heart ! 
But still he is my brother ! Love stirs — and Hate is 

dead. 
And Love forgives ! " He should be blessed !" So, 
Isaac said ! 



148 Woinan mid Man. 



3 

LEAH. 

Lo ! all these many years unloved, I love — 
No slight, nor coldness, nay, nor hate avails 
To quench my heart's well-spring that never fails 

Though misery, like a stone, be rolled above ; 

Shall he not turn to me some day, who knows 
The patient waiting of untiring dream. 
And catch, through sympathy, some earnest gleam 

Of growing passion, from its light that glows 

Forever yearning in my tender eyes ? 

For but my father pitied, and made sure — • 
Well he and I knew Rachel's place secure — 

To make my life of worth by wifely ties ! 
So if 'gainst love of theirs I sinned in sight of Heaven, 
Through Love, for Love's sake, may be Love at last 
forgiven ! 



Woman atid Man. 149 



4 
JACOB. 

Love filled me as thy fairness smote my eyes 

When standing shyly 'mid the thronging sheep ; 
Love overflowed, so I could only weep 

And kiss thee, speechless with the glad surprise 

That thou wert Rachel ! Nor e'er deemed it hard 
To spend my youth in toil, 'neath scorching sun. 
Or stung with frosts, since such long service done 

Should bring the sweetness of my great reward ! 

Then on this Love whose single thought was thine, 
Thy cunning father, for my labor's sake, 
Grafted cold hate ! — Leah's sin was this, to take 

Love's duty from Love's right, a claim divine ! — 
Lo ! she is recompensed — dearer thy death-born child 
Than all her elder brood whereon her sad Hope smiled ! 



150 Woman and Man. 



5 
VASHTI. 

Ah ! this was he I called my lord and King, 
For wliose sake sought I to be worthy queen 
Of life and land ! — One moment's drunken spleen 
Long years of love does to oblivion fling ! 
And that I would not stoop from my estate 
Of queen and wife into a wanton's place, 
And shameless cast the veil off this poor grace 
His pride made senseless boast of, so to sate 
The lustful eyes of wine-besotted men. 

He makes decree to strike all wives through me ! — 
Sure Memucan has one who will not be 
Slave unrebellious, so gall tips his pen ! — 
Whose loss was most, Oh, King ? From throne in 

woman's trust 
See, woman's loveless scorn thy Kingsliip treads in 
dust ! 



Woman and Man, 151 



AHASUERUS. 

Oh, Vashti, Vasliti ! queen of heart and throne, 
By my own mad decree I wrought this pain 
That never sliall I see thy face again — 

That face whose loveliness vv^as all my own ! 

All mine alone, thy beauty and thy love ! 
Thy love that made thy beauty sacred seem, 
And gave thee courage to resist, to deem 

That sober sense would set thy pride above 

My shallow vanity ! My injured one, 
I cannot put thy banished grace away 
That haunts me still ! — Yet Memucan did say 

That husbands should have rule ! — Now, this is done. 
Come, Cursed Counsellors of witless hours of wine, 
To quench tliese memories drear some new device 
divine ! 



152 Woman and Man. 



1 
ONE OF THE WIVES. 

Oh, Prince of Israel, I am thy wife, 

And mother of thy babes ! I sought not thee, 
But thou didst take me from my land to be 
Thine own ! I left all kin to share thy life ! — 
And now at this fanatic's word, thou'lt rend 

These heart-born ties! He says, this priest, that 

He, 
Ilis God, ordains it ! Can this God then be 
Jehovah, in whom Love and Justice blend 
As thou hast taught ? Ye Hebrews Moloch hate 
Because of children who pass through his fires ! 
Yet over Moloch Ezra's God aspires 
By thrusting wives in hell ! Not such my fate 
Shall ever rule ! This God, this priest, my love de- 
fies ! — 
Thus, unexiled, my wifehood on thy bosom, dies ! 



Woman and Man, 153 



8 

EZRA. 

Oh, Lord my God, Thy servant's heart is sore 
For this Thy people's sin ! I did proclaim 
Loudly before the King that wrath and shame 

Should fall on those who would forsake Thee more — 

And now these sons of Israel have ta'en 

Strange heathen wives, the daughters of the land. 
And broke, like punished sires, Thy stern com- 
mand ! 

And prophet's burden Thou on me hast lain 

To cry Thy judgments ! And the people weep, 
While banished women look on me with hate. 
And bid their children curse me in the gate 

Whence thy go fortli ! — yet must I hard eyes keep. 
For bondsmen to Thy vengeance all these weary years, 
This nation's destiny fails not for woman's tears I 



154 Woman and Man. 



9 

PANTHEA. 

Oh, my beloved, what ecstacy, what bliss 
To be again within thy tender arms I 
To know that all thine own, from war's alarms 

And captive's peril, I was spared for this ! 

For my poor beauty and rich queenly state 

Were doomed the destined prize of kingly power — 
Nay — tremble not — behold, I do not cower 

From off thy breast with shame — As equal great 

In conquest over nations or desire 

Thus Cyrus stayed my poniard's self-aimed stroke, 
And living love here called thee to invoke 

Thy gratitude for grace ! — Ah ! these inspire 
Thy fervid zeal e'en life itself to freely spend 
To prove my Abradates Cyrus' worthy friend! 



Woman and Man. 155 



CYRUS. 

When of Panthea's grace Araspes spoke, 

Still peerless in her grief o'er fortune's phase, 
He marvelled that my heart was steeled by praise 

Of conquering beauty 'gainst Love's thralling yoke ! 

Yet he was banished as its hapless slave ; 

And she, who, thankful, by its power brought 
Her noble husband to my cause, has sought 

Her death on his red sword, and shares his grave ! — 

Love rules the spirit and enchains the mind ; 
He who would men control must self command 
From passion's influence, and seem to stand 

Above the ills that lower natures bind ! 
And Cyrus, hailed as god by war's triumphant liost, 
Must, god-like, never fall 'neath human uttermost! 



156 Woman and Man. 



II 

CLEOPATRA. 

My Charmian, robe me in my royal state, 
And with my regal diadem once more 
Crown me for death — the asp I proudly wore 
'Mid power's joy, frees me from abject fate ! — 
Suck close, O snal<e, where Caesar kissed of old ! — 
For lo ! dead Anthony calls in my heart 
His Egypt shall die queen ! — The poison's art 
Smites Iris down — my hot blood turns to cold— 
But Charmian, cling thou to passing breath 
That when Octavius shall anxious send 
His messenger to claim my life — at end, 
Thou may'st then answer though in pangs of death 
To " Is this well ?" with, " Ay, most worthy well in one 
From kings descended !" — Dark ! — Ah, Egypt's day is 
done ! 



Woman and Man. 



157 



C^SAR. 

Rome waits for conquered Egypt — Egypt dies — 
And when for Actium I triumph there 
And eager rabble all expectant stare 

For storied charms can never greet their eyes ; 

And whisper to each other, " Where is she 
That serpent of Old Nile wiio made a thrall 
Of Anthony?" Ah, what a shade must fall 
O'er laurelled pageantry, thus lacking thee .' 

Yet balifled so, beside thy golden bed 

Where glorious still in crown and witching smile 
Thou queenly slept, for just a moment's while 

I envied Anthony ! — Thus proudly dead, 
r, Caesar, give thee back to him in thy last home — 
For lifeless captives make no welcome show at Rome ! 



158 Woman and Man. 



13 
MARIAMNE. 

Think'st thou, O Herod, that my woman heart 
Knows not true love from semblance of it worn 
O'er jealous passion ? Love is rightly born 

Tvvin-souled, two mingled selves ne'er felt apart ! 

And ancient stories have unfailing told 

That Love will die that the beloved may live i 
But, thou, in tyrant wont, the cliarge dost give 

If death takes thee, tiie tomb shall me enfold ! 

For vile suspicion makes thy pride unjust 

Toward my chaste mind, lest other man should 

please ; 
While false Salome can rob of trembling ease 

Thy soul that has not learned pure love is trust ! — 
Thy purple cannot raise my higher, nobler race. 
Nor can thy love, for my dead brother's blood, find 



grace 



Woman and Man, 159 



14 
HEROD. 

Here, here, among these desert wastes, alone, 
My sorrows can find voice — my awful grief 
In anguished cries may seek its sole relief — 
For silence strangles on my life-thronged throne ! 
Ah, Mariamne, what to me are all 

Earth's values now, crown, treasures, honors, state ! 
These gave the power that doomed thy hapless 
fate ! 
Storm-whirlcvl with rage, saw I not then would fall 
Thy death upon my heart like lightning's stroke 
To blast and wither, yet scorch with lurid pain 
Akin to madness ! — for since thou wert slain 
The mortal love thy living beauty woke 
Changed sudden to intenseness sounding hidden deeps 
Of soul-self yet unknown that now these blood-tears 
weeps ! 



i6o Woman and Man, 



15 
PORTIA. 

Where now, O Portia, is the lofty mood 

That ere the ides of Marcli cut deep and sure 
In my soft flesh, that calmly to endure 

The sharpest pain, might show the fortitude 

Of Brutus' wife to share his brooding thought, 
And hold the secret of that mighty deed ? — 
But since at Elea my heart took heed 

Of pictured parting full of sorrow wrought, 

I weep o'er sad Andromache's distress 

When " first in danger as the first in fame," 
Her Hector leaves her ! My own woe the same ! 

So change we women from our great to less ! — 
What message, Man, from Philippi ? — Ah! — Death, 

once more 
Though makest Cato's daughter worthy as of yore ! 



Wo7nan and Man, i6i 



i6 

BRUTUS. 

Ere Caesar fell 'neatli Ponipey's statue, mute, 
lie saw my dagger's gleam, and looked at me ; 
And 3'et once more I struck to set Rome free, 
Nor faltering shrank to hear his " Et tu, Brute !" 
So when at midnight through my tent did flare 
Strange light about portentous shape that said, 
" Again at Philippi we'll meet !" no dread 
Disturbed my calm reply, " I'll meet thee there !" 
Then as mid battle-din I sought for death 
Tins " Evil Genius " turned off the swords, 
The while I trembled not at boding words, 
" But hand that Ceasar smote shall stay thy breath !' 
Defeat shall ne'er make Brutus tyrant's living slave — 
Unfearing still, this blade shall thus his freedom save ! 



i62 Woman and Man. 



17 

ASPASIA. 

Not mine the household use of woman's lot, 
Soft slavery that custom's fetters bind ; 
But sexless equalling of mind with mind, 

And power's joy by intellect begot ! 

To stand with Pericles on level height, 
With sage Anaxagoras soar o'er dream 
Of childish faiths to truth of One Supreme, 

Share e'en with Socrates pure wisdom's light, 

And know my kindling thought through such allies 
Will spread new fire 'mid world of smaller men — • 
This is life's sweetness, thrilling highest when 

Love through Ambition with prophetic eyes 
Sees while Earth honors Athens, her immortal fame 
Shall Pericles enshrine linked to Aspasia's name ! 



Woifian and Man. 163 



18 
PERICLES. 

Dear friends, who sit around my dying bed, 
Deem ye my dulling sense takes no more heed, 
As proudly ye recount my every deed 

That lustre on my name or Athens shed ? 

My funeral speech, the matchless Parthenon, 
Nine trophies for nine Victories, and all 
Through fortune's might to other chiefs befall — 

But ye recall not noblest part, whereon 

Now lying here, my memory gladly rests. 
That not one citizen through act of mine 
Ere mourning wore ! — Yet, city loved, 'twas thine 

To smite those near me with hate's false behests — 
Slew Phidias, exiled Anaxagoras years, — 
Saw for Aspasia pleading Pericles in tears! 



164 Woman and Alan. 



19 
XANTIPPE. 

Men deem my Socrates a worthy sage ; 

They follow, harkening, where his footsteps roam — 
(Had he no listeners he'd bide more at home — ) 

No care that cackling gilds no nestling's cage ! 

For while he questions in the market place, 
And plays the oracle upon the street, 
I toil and toil to make the bare ends meet 

Of living for his babes and liim ; small grace 

Therefore I gain ; for when at idle hands 

And wagging tongues I rail ; (one must have vent !) 
With smiling eyes on some far vision bent 

Like his own statues stony still he stands ! — 
He may be higher than my poor power to scan, 
But I had happier been with nearer, meaner man ! 



Woman and Man. 165 



20 

SOCRATES. 

" How shall ye bury me ?" my Crito asks — 
First, Crito, of myself you must get hold ! — 
Still thinks he, friends, this body dead and cold 
Will be the Socrates whose latest tasks 
Have been the iiappiness of proving truth 
To comfort ye, ttiat when I leave ye here 
I go to blessed joys — be of good cheer, 
Nor wail o'er empty flesh with grief or ruth, 
While the immortal soul is living, safe ! — 
Send home Xantippe, Crito, no loud cries 
Should mar the patience, peace, of one who dies- 
And bring me my last cup — Nay, wherefore cliafe 
That I delay not — go rejoicing on my way ? — 
That God my journey prosper onlj?^, parting, pray ! 



1 66 Woman and Man. 



21 

HIPPARETE. 

I, Hipparete, the lawful wedded wife 
Of AlcibiadeSj pray this high court 
Of Areopagus, — my last resort, — 

To give me my divorce from his vile life ! 

I have borne much ere seeking here relief, 
Forgiven oft, in tliat he swore ray love 
Was need of finest moods, raised him above 

Low levels to high aims ; and stilled my grief 

By tender hope to wean him to his best^ 
And yet this morn he passed my very door 
In swan-shaped chariot, my gift of yore, 

With Phrynne's yellow head upon his breast ! — 
That voice ! — my name ! — his open arms ! — cease, heart, 

thy strife — 
Oh, Alcibiades, forgive thy foolish wife ! 



Woman and Man. 167 



22 

ALCIBIADES. 

These women, Socrates, are merely toys 
Swayed by a word ; a wife upon our breast 
Will still accusing ; while like long-won quest 
Fair Phrynne stales. Wine, wit, have lost their joys, 
And riot wearies. So I seek once more 
Thy wisdom. Probe this changeful heart 
With thy deep questions till some worthy part 
Shall justify the love thine ever bore. — 
Thine eyes are sharp, thy truths are cutting keen — 
Ay, through all folly thou discernest clear 
Strong aim with every breeze to safely steer 
Toward fortune's port ; and thou hast ever seen 
That whether it be war, love, skill, or best, or worst, 
Thy Alcibiades must ever be the First ! 



1 68 Woman and Man, 



23 

LAIS. 

All, every son of woman I have known 

Are arrant slaves to never conquered sense ! 
Not e'en the strongest has the least defense 

'Gainst my allurement ; just my smile, my tone. 

Will whirl their brains like fumes of Samian wine ! — 
All tribute bring, fame, wisdom, youth, and age ! — 
Lo there, Diogenes, the crusty sage — 

I did but stand where sunlight made me shine 

From golden hair adown to snowy feet. 

Stretched rosy hands, and breathed a luscious power 
Forth from my lithesome grace, and he did cower 

Beneath my sole whose touch turned spurning sweet ! 
These men are willing Helots of their natures vile ; 
I, love-void Lais, joy to lash them with each wile ! 



Woman and Man. 169 



24 

DIOGENES. 

Two shadows marred my sunshine ; one, a king, 
Came offering aught a vanquished land might 

yield ; 
And I was wroth — no sceptre earth can wield 
A better gift tlian heaven's light could bring ! 
Then Lais — a warm whiteness in the beams, 

Soft, rounded, pulsing 'neath her flowing hair ; — 
From eyes and palms a subtle flame did flare 
All through me of sweet longing and mad dreams ! — 
Scorn-echoes stilled hot tumult of the blood, 
And struggling up with awful battle throes 
From life's abyssmal deeps, such shadow shows 
Me worthless as all men — Light is sole^good ! — 
And tempting Lais, dragging world-grimed souls to 

dust, 
Unwitting teaches that the watching gods are just ! 



170 Woman and Man. 



25 
AYESHA. 

When Abu Thaleb to Mahomet said, 

*' Let be — think thine own thoughts — stir not old 

ways 
To strife with new," the Prophet, e)'es ablaze, 
Cried, "Nay, God's Truth compels, though men strike 

dead !" 
And I, Ayesha, asked, " Is my fair youth 
Not dearer than Kadijah's stricken years ?" 
" By Heavens, No I" he answered me with tears, 
" She was the first who owned ' Thou hast the Truth !'" 
True is this Truth to me, for I have heard 
No other — I believe I do believe — 
Grasp sure the power it yields — yet still perceive 
A strange and subtle essence in these stirred 
I know not — God's fire, blending, drawn to Faith's 

Above, 
That makes more worth her memory than all earthly 
love. 



Woman and Man. 171 



26 

MAHOMET. 

In awful silences of solitude, 

'Neath infinite far depths of solemn sky, 
In rapturous soul-visions, even I 
Discerned the whole world Truth ; not dim, or crude, 
But radiant clear, as though the desert air 

Pulsed golden with it, swept my being through, 
Till reverent ecstasy stirred mission new 
To lift from idols in like praise and prayer 
Men needing Gospel — this — that God is Great, 
And One, and all our human ways His will ! 
And he whom with Himself He thus doth fill 
Hath never choice of muteness — Speech is Fate ! 
Though but a Voice I am His Prophet, chosen so, 
His Prophet to all Earth — for them that hear not, — 
Woe ! 



172 Woman and Man. 



27 

VITTORIA COLONNA. 

Love made youth beautiful ; keeps tender still 
My widowed heart, where joy destroying grief, 
Like angel in disguise, brought woe's relief 
By leading up to God rebellious will ; 
And by His light amid this suffering shed 

Came clearer sight of reverend church and creed — 
Thus memory filled one part of Nature's need, 
Religious trust my freer spirit fed ; 
Yet still my searching intellect had turned 
Both these to witless agents of unrest, 
But Friendship's kindred mind with wakening best 
To answering Thought pressed powers that in me 
burned. 
Thus, Michel, in sweet aim to share thy lofty heigh 
My weaker being gained strength from thy matchless 
might ! 



Woman and Man. 173 



28 
MICHEL ANGELO. 

A long, lone life — yet now 'tis nearly done 
My soul is glad that it was long and lone — 
But consecrated solitude can own 

Inspired dreams by Time to being won. 

Ah, not for naught my Moses' head has shown 
The Tauric horns of power ! On desert height 
Must he have dwelt amid divinest light 

Who brings to men the word of God in stone ! — 

More sacred than all popes to me was Art, 
E'en when for Medici it wrought in snow, 
Or skyward dome sublimed grand church below ; 

Life's joy was there ! — But one pain smites my heart, 
That by death's awed I sought not memory's bliss, 
And on Vittoria's brow laid one last, only kiss ! 



174 Woman and Man, 



29 
LEONORA D'ESTE. 

Once more, Alphonso, hear my anguished prayer — 
Set Tasso free — if but for thy own fame — 
For as time goes men prize a poet's name 

Far more than one mere princely — none will spare 

To ban thee in long sorrow o'er his fate. 
For sacred, rare, a precious thing apart, 
Is Genius to Wisdom's kindred heart ; 

And Patience ever on its ways should wait ! 

Then too his other gracious gifts of grace 

Should woo thee from thy hard, relentless will 
His cup of suffering to overfill 

For guiltless guilt wrought by my hapless face ! — 
Alas ! what bitterness to be so near a throne 
Whose splendors mock at love that makes a woman 
lone ! 



Woman and Man, i75 



30 
TASSO. 

Said some one I was mad ? Is madness pain, 
And dungeon darkness, thirst, cold, or grief 
At parting with belove d one, or belief 

That friends are false, and foes would have me slain ? 

Or is it ecstasy of rapturous hour 
That only rarest spirits ever know, 
When inspiration's lovely visions flow 

Into word-harmony of living power ? 

Is madness to have linked my deathless fame 

To prince ungrateful ?— To have breathed in song 
The tenderest passion ever deemed a wrong ?— 

No poets' love was e'er a princess' shame ! — 
Mad thus, and prisoned here, still can my winged soul 

flee 
From freed Jerusalem, oh Leonore, to thee ! 



176 Woman a7id Man. 



31 
MARY STUART. 

Shall I, born Queen, in Scotland's straitened way 
Keep step like any single-natured dame ? — 
My like such know not, though they judge and 
blame ! — 

For through my complex make blood mixture plays, 

Stuart and Guise, warm South and chilly Norili, 
Will mark me as world's riddle to the end ! 
While in this one so many women blend 

That fitting time draws different showing forth ! 

And every separate self needs suited mate 
Joyed o'er, and lost unwept, as wax or wane 
Sways of hid being — thus, Darnley, weak and vain, 

French Chastelard, strong Bothwell's mastery great — 
Each deemed in what he gained he only had won all — 
While never yet one loved held Mary whole in thrall ! 



Woman and Man. 177 



32 
BOTHWELL. 

Loud 'neath my dungeon roar the stormy waves ! 
Loud from my soul cries out my quenchless ire 
'Gainst guilt as deep as mine in curses dire 

But sea-gulls hear as foam each strong wing laves ! 

Go, bear them, birds, to Scotland's distant shore, 
And shriek them in the shrinking ears of band 
That shared the blood-stains on my fettered 
hand ! — 

Oh ! for a breath of mountain air once more ! — 

These chains outweigh a crown ! — Yet to be free 
To wreak my vengeance on the churls that fear 
The love that won my Queen, so bound me here 

With deeper craft than mine ! Ah, fool, to flee 
In sudden madness — that besets my tortured brain 
Whene'er my anguish hears her last farewell again ! 



178 Woman and Man. 



33 
MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

Alas! To prison-bourne from palace-birth, 

With queenhood, wifehood, motherhood, all gone, 
Accursed by gory hate hard as this stone, 

What holds my hopeless being on this earth ? 

For but one thing is merciful and sweet 
Amid this maelstrom of bewildering fate — 
Sleep gives me back my children, husband, state, 

My youth, my throne, the glad world at my feet I — 

Grief only, loss-born, marks all these not dreams ! — 
Yet 'mong the figures that bewhirl luy life. 
Kings, courtiers, statesmen, mad canaille in strife, 

One stands alone, and /V, and never seems, 
A Titan-soul — true-royal — kindred — strong to Can — 
Marred face with human eyes — dead Mirabeau — a 
Man ! 



Woman and Man. ^ 79 



34 
MIRABEAU 

Queen of Roi Faineant, in tliy royal strait 

Great Queen to me — not woman — what the charm 
Spelled me, my order's renegade, to warm 

In knightly promise for thy threatened state? 

Ah me ! She felt 'mid wild Riquetti blood, 

Self-fouled and banned, the pulse of old noblesse ; — 
Through heirdom of five centuries — no less — 

Her words, like trumpet, stirred cliivalric good ! — 

And yet — these millions — trodden, howling brutes, 
Who deem her Circe dooming them to mire — 
Ye too are human — God ! what suffering dire 

Made me their brother ? — Reason still refutes 
For them past Chivalry ! — O Earth, for this my part 
Give power — to bear all these, a queen, France, on my 
heart ! 



i8o Woman and Man. 



35 
JOSEPHINE. 

Forth from thy palace, from thy throne, thy lieart, 
I go, Napoleon ; but these bitter tears 
Flow not for splendors lost, dead hopes, past years, 
But that with me thy glory will depart ! 
Tliough higher in the sight of trembling world 
Thy power's impetus may raise thee still, 
Yet hollow 'neath thy pageantry and will 
Waits the abyss wherein shall all be hurled ! 
For while thy destiny was linked to mine 

Fate brought thee kingdoms, Fortune gave her 

smile. 
Since first arose o'er that far Western isle 
Thy trusted Star, which soon will cease to shine, 
As thou, in quenching love, its mystic light shall 

drown, 
For unto w.?, not thee, was prophesied a crown ! 



Woman mid Man. 



i«i 



36 

NAPOLEON. 

Blind world of Europe, on this rock sea-bound 
The fear of me shall rule while mortal state 
Holds me the One whom will-compellinc; Fate 
Ordained to compass purposes profound ! — 
All cycling time awaited pregnant hour, 

That marked commencement of another age. 
When I, who was To Come, on History's page 
Wrote fadeless name of destined fame and power I — 
" Out of the West," the Eastern Prophet said, 

"Should beam Earth's next Avatar's guiding star !" 
/ was the Secret of the Sphinx — afar 
Old lands expected new, enlightening head ! — 
Peace was my war-aimed goal — peace ripening vast de- 
signs — 
Mind-realm, fire barred — this, too, is East — life's star 
still shines ! 



1 82 Woman and Man. 



37 
CHARLOTTE VON STEIN. 

Love, Goelhe ! thou hast known but love of love — 
Mere tempting simulacrum of the true, 
From knowledge craving born, that would eschew 

To set ripe passion sentiment above ! 

Test absence ever thine allegiance broke, 
As Italy outrivalled link of years ; 
Yet land and song I could forgive with tears, 

But not thy yielding to a lower yoke ! 

And surely thou, who makest human fate 
Thy endless study, knowest every sin 
Holds germ of its own punishment within, 

Nor canst expect to 'scape the common fate ! 
Thus shall this Christiane with vengeance due repay 
Youth's prudent, fickle heart that loved, and rode 



Woman and Man. 



38 
GOETHE. 

The great world-gift was mine, that life and time 
Transmute to Immortality ! All things 
Without but fed tlie inner springs 
Of Poesy's soul-fount, till stream sublime 
Of Nature-knowledge marked the garnered best 
That Thought and Feeling gave the written page 
From Youth's earth-roving to sequestered age, 
Through Sturm and Drang to Weimar's peaceful rest 
Love, pain, and sorrow, friendships rare and liigh. 
Art, Science, honors, passion, all shed light 
On mortal deeps that cast but spray to sight — 
Yet still I crave more light until I die ! 
For soon will night shades close o'er Goethe's busy 

day ; 
But from the human heart shall Faust ne'er pass 



away 



184 Woman and Man, 



39 
CARLOTTA. 

Once more I hear the awful sound of war — 
And like one rising from a silent tomb 
I wake to watch the dawning of thy doom, 
The battle quenching of thy pallid star ! 
The murdered dead and I will speechless sit 

Close, close beside thy humbled, tottering throne, 
The while our discrowned brows shall mock thine 
own 
All shrunken from its circlet's olden fit ! 
His mouldering shroud, my mourning garb shall 
sweep 
Across thine ermine's flow. When o'er thy soul 
The guns of Victory thundering paeans roll 
One far death-volley shall the echoes keep ! 
Through strife-red mists, O Louis, sybil-like, I see 
Some Waterloo avenging Mexico, and Me ! 



Woman and Man. 185 



40 
LOUIS NAPOLEON. 

Before Sedan, a wierd, prophetic dream 

Sleep murdered since ; — I stood in front of throne, 
Long waited for, and tlirough skill destined, won, 

And on it loomed, what first did shadow seem, 

Majestic, sceptered, in imperial state 

The Great Napoleon — power supreme of will 
Out-flowed from him my soul upholding still 

As terror hearkened to the Voice of fate — 

"Son of Hortense," he said, " mine is this throne, 
France-given while France is — Yet that I died 
Uncrowned in human sight, none else beside 

Henceforth upon it shall die crowned !" Then lone 
From barren rock I saw him gaze on empty seat — 
Saw Maximilian's sword, and D'Engheins', o'er it, 
greet ! 



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